$2.50 


THE 
ENCOUNTER 

By  Anne  Douglas  Sedgwick 


THIS  story  of  Nietzsche  in  love, 
one  of  the  best  of  Anne  Doug- 
las Sedgwick's  earlier  novels, 
is  now  re-issued  in  the  Uniform 
Edition. 

'  Rarely  is  a  novel  so  filled 
to  the  brim  with  ideas,  rarely 
does  it  combine  so  success- 
fully and  illusively  the  ele- 
ments of  seriousness  and  fan- 
tasy. ...  A  novel  that  is 
brilliant,  a  novel  that  grows 
all  the  greater  in  retrospect.' 
—  Boston  Transcript. 


EtS* 


THE  ENCOUNTER 


BY 
ANNE  DOUGLAS  SEDGWICK 

(MRS.  BASIL  DE  SfiLINCOURT) 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  I9I4,  BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

All.  RIGHTS  RESERVED  INCLUDING  THE  RIGHT  TO  REPRODUCE 
THIS  BOOK  OR  PARTS  THEREOF  IN  ANY  FORM 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED  IN  THE  U.S.A. 


Those  of  my  readers  who  are  familiar  with  the  life 
of  a  famous  modern  philosopher  will  find  a  resem- 
blance to  his  tragi-comic  love  affair  in  the  story  of 
Ludwig  Wehlitz  and  Persis  Fennamy.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  its  central  figure,  who  embodies  an  im- 
pression of  his  piteous  and  splendid  prototype,  the 
characters  in  my  novel  are  entirely  imaginary. 


THE  ENCOUNTER 


2799 


THE  ENCOUNTER 


CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  very  still  in  the  Pension  Mullen  The  oil- 
lamp  had  been  thriftily  extinguished  in  the  en- 
trance hall  an  hour  before,  and  it  was  two  hours  since 
the  band  had  ceased  playing  in  the  Kur-Garten.  The 
last  murmurs  of  the  little  German  watering-place,  held 
in  the  shallow  cup  of  its  surrounding  hills,  came,  ir- 
resolutely, lethargically,  through  the  open  window 
where  Persis  Fennamy  sat,  like  the  broken  words  of  a 
child  that  falls  asleep.  The  window  was  at  the  back 
of  the  pension  and  overlooked,  from  its  top  story,  the 
gnarled  old  apple-trees  in  the  garden  below,  where 
tin  tables  stood  among  untidy  grass.  An  iron  grille 
at  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  rusty,  but  of  a  somewhat 
imposing  height  and  pattern,  gave  upon  the  river-path ; 
then  came  the  river  with  its  bordering  of  woods,  and 
the  quiet  hills,  rising,  some  miles  away,  to  a  fairly 
dignified  mountainous  silhouette.  On  the  right  the 
river-path  led  to  the  Eichen  Promenade  where,  among 
a  little  plantation  of  oak-trees,  a  cheerfully  caparisoned 
cafe  attracted  many  customers  on  the  warm  autumn 
evenings. 

3 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

All  was  dully  sleeping  now  and  offered  little  of 
beauty  to  the  young  girl  sitting  at  her  window,  her 
elbows  on  the  table  drawn  beside  it,  her  head  in  her 
hands.  The  very  river  looked  like  a  grey  pavement, 
it  hardly  seemed  to  flow,  and  the  hills  with  their  neat 
patchwork  of  wood  and  vineyard,  sharply  outlined  on 
the  sky,  looked  like  pasteboard  scenery.  Only  the 
moon,  high  in  the  heavens,  had  grace,  and  the  illumined 
air  and  the  two  lombardy  poplars  which  grew  in  an 
adjacent  garden  and  trembled  incessantly  as  the  soft 
night-wind  passed  over  them.  Upon  these  trees 
Persis  Fennamy  had  fixed  her  eyes,  and  in  the  prosaic 
stillness  they  were  like  her  thoughts,  lonely,  dark, 
serene,  and  aimlessly  melancholy. 

The  two  candles,  placed  at  either  end  of  the  table, 
and  hardly  flickering  in  the  nocturnal  air,  revealed  a 
childish  profile,  with  rounded  forehead,  small,  flattened 
nose,  small,  short  chin;  in  full  face,  the  long  brows 
and  dilated  nostrils  and  wide  curled  lips,  that  seemed 
at  once  to  pout  with  a  sort  of  weariness  and  to  smile 
with  a  sort  of  disdain,  tinged  the  more  trivial  aspects 
with  Egyptian  analogies  of  haughty,  pensive  force. 
The  eyes  were  large,  radiant  and  cold. 

She  had  sat  here  for  a  long  time— ever  since  she  and 
her  mother  had  come  up  from  their  small  salon  on  the 
ground  floor  where  they  had  spent  the  evening  on 
either  side  of  the  lamp,  she  over  a  volume  of  Carducci, 
her  mother  quietly  rustling  among  the  pages  of  the 
English  and  American  newspapers  that  the  post  had 
brought.  The  sonorous  Italian  rhythms  had  been 

4 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

beating  in  her  mind  as  she  came  upstairs;  and  all  the 
time  that  she  had  sat  here  they  had  seemed  to  people 
her  thoughts  with  dissolving  arabesques,  with  ara- 
besques that  were  feelings  rather  than  forms,  feelings 
imperious,  urgent,  stoically  yet  languorously  sad. 
At  first,  the  rhythmic  urgency  beating  in  her,  she  had 
thought  that  she  would  write.  She  had  never 
kept  a  diary;  she  had  never  been  interested  in  re- 
corded facts,  even  when  they  concerned  herself,  and, 
even  in  early  girlhood,  had  known  little  of  any  but 
a  disinterested,  unemotional  introspection.  But  she 
wrote  poetry  sometimes,  fragmentary,  inconclusive 
verses ;  her  moods  seeming  to  drive  them  in,  as  waves 
drive  in  their  crumbling,  fretted  curves  upon  the  sands. 
Sheaves  of  such  records,  written  on  haphazard  sheets, 
filled  the  battered  green  leather  box  that  stood  on  the 
chest  of  drawers;  treasured,  with  its  velvet  lining  and 
secure  lock,  since  her  thirteenth  birthday,  when  her 
mother  had  given  it  to  her  to  hold  the  already  accumu- 
lating store.  But  though  to-night  she  had  drawn  the 
paper  towards  her,  and  though  the  pen  lay  ready 
beside  it,  she  had  written  nothing.  The  cloudy 
arabesques,  towering,  falling,  wreathing — those  feel- 
ings of  undefined  power — had  shaped  themselves,  as 
the  time  went  by,  into  faces  only,  into  a  retrospect 
peopled  by  a  procession  of  faces  that  made  her  more 
lonely  than  before;  for,  though  so  many,  they  were 
none  of  them  near.  There  was  the  nameless  little 
face,  red-hooded,  pale  and  freckled  on  a  snowy  back- 
ground, of  some  little  girl  with  whom  in  very  early 

5 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

childhood  she  had  played  in  America;  she  often  saw 
her  clearly,  and  she  sometimes  wondered  what  had 
become  of  her;  with  this  came  a  hovering  of  the  eyes 
and  smile  of  an  Irish  nurse  and  the  benignant  form 
of  a  grandmother,  in  black  silk,  with  lace  cap  and 
diamond  brooch,  who  had  taken  her  to  a  mysteriously 
glimmering  cupboard  and  given  her  slices  of  "  layer 
cake  " ;  and  then  a  dim  vision — dim  because  so  slight 
and  swift,  yet  it  seemed  to  flash  always  like  a  falling 
star — of  her  father's  face,  with  strange,  pale,  shining 
eyes  and  tossed  back  hair.  He  had  died  when  she 
was  four.  After  this  came  the  crowded  faces  of  all 
their  wanderings,  her  mother's  and  hers — English, 
French,  German,  Italian,  Russian;  faces  of  bonnes 
and  language  mistresses,  of  table  d'hote  acquaintances, 
friends  picked  up  at  an  Italian  lake  or  French  plage 
or  pension  salon — faces  of  the  English  family  with 
whom  they  had  gone  to  stay  in  Somersetshire;  once 
only;  they  had  been  bored  there;  faces  of  the  young 
Russian  nihilists  they  had  come  to  know  in  Rome; 
the  face  of  the  blind,  learned  German  baroness,  to 
whose  remote  Prussian  country-house  they  still  paid 
a  visit  every  year,  and  the  face  of  little  Ninka,  with 
whose  family  they  had  spent  a  summer  in  Russia  two 
years  ago;  (little  Ninka,  now  dead,  who  had  been 
so  fond  of  her,  and  who,  foolish  and  gentle,  had  used 
to  lean  her  head  against  her  shoulder  as  she  stood 
beside  her  and  to  say :  "  I  love  you.  You  have  the 
eyes  of  a  sea-maiden  ")  ;  and  Dexter  Mainwaring  of 
Philadelphia,  with  whom  she  had  ridden  in  the  Bois, 

6 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

in  Paris,  and  whose  urbane  and  elegant  mother  had 
been  so  manifestly  relieved  when  he  had  gone  back 
to  Harvard  unengaged;  she  had  never  given  him  a 
chance  to  propose  to  her,  though  she  had  clearly  seen 
his  state;  he  had  made  her  think  always  of  a  beautiful 
cake  of  soap,  soap  of  the  very  best  quality  wrapped 
in  fine  tissue-paper — ;  and  through  it  all,  of  course, 
looking  at  the  procession  with  her,  indeed,  rather  than 
in  it,  went  the  little  mild,  coiffed  head  of  her  mother, 
and  the  dark  eyes  and  large  yellow  teeth  of  Eleanora 
Zardo;  while,  like  a  lamp  behind  a  thin  and  tattered 
tapestry,  she  saw  approach  nearer  and  nearer  the  face 
that  held  her  thoughts  more  than  any  other,  the 
beautiful  face  that  emerged  at  last  of  Prince  Marco. 
Persis  did  not  know  that  she  had  fallen  in  love  with 
the  Prince.  She  did  not  analyse  her  feeling  for  him. 
He  had  arrested  and  enchanted  her.  She  had  felt 
herself  drawn  towards  him  as  a  child  is  drawn,  irresis- 
tibly, by  some  bright  object.  All  that  could  be  counted 
as  passion  in  her  consciousness  was  the  icy,  watchful 
pride  in  which  her  emotion  sheathed  itself  when  aware 
that  nothing  in  his  responded  to  it.  She  was  indif- 
ferently aware  of  worldly  standards,  but  it  hardly 
crossed  her  thoughts  that,  even  had  he  responded,  a 
wandering  American  girl  with  the  tiniest  of  dots 
could  hardly  have  hoped  for  an  alliance  with  the 
splendid  and  impoverished  creature.  It  was  the  fact 
of  his  indifference  that  had  held  her  in  a  vice  of  suffer- 
ing. He  had  married,  the  winter  before,  a  pretty, 
commonplace  little  millionairess,  Dexter  Mainwaring's 

7 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

cousin.  He  was  said  to  be  in  love  with  her  and  Persis 
had  noted  that  she  had  golden  hair  and  blue  eyes  as 
indifferently  as  she  noted,  when  her  mother  pointed  it 
out  to  her,  that  her  ears  were  placed  too  low  and  made 
her  look  like  a  newt.  Whether  the  Prince's  bride  were 
pretty  or  not  pretty,  and  whether  he  had  married  her 
for  love  or  for  money  solely,  were  equally  idle  matters 
to  Persis  since  he  had  not  loved  herself.  She  knew  no 
malice  and  no  jealousy.  Now,  in  thinking  of  him,  of 
the  glance  and  smile  that  had  always  made  her  think  of 
a  pomegranate-flower,  she  closed  her  eyes  and  leaned 
her  head  down  on  her  arms  and  let  her  grief  pass  over 
her  as  the  trembling  passed  over  the  poplars.  And  so 
she  sat  for  a  long  time,  drowned  in  a  tearless,  passion- 
less melancholy. 

She  roused  herself  at  last.  One  o'clock  had  struck 
from  the  clock-tower  in  the  town.  She  sat  upright 
and  pushed  back  the  hair  that  had  fallen  about  her 
face.  Now  she  felt  dispossessed,  chill,  indifferent. 
She  had  turned  her  eyes  on  the  poplars  again  and  they 
looked  to  her  like  vast  submarine  plants,  rippling  up- 
wards in  deep  water;  and  she  herself  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  looking  up  at  them.  The  thought 
had  the  hallucinatory  intensity  of  a  nightmare;  but 
she  directed  it,  indulging  it,  rather  than  mastered  by 
it,  until,  words  rising  at  last  in  her  mind,  interlacing, 
making  chains,  she  took  up  her  pen  and  drew  the  paper 
towards  her  and  wrote,  with  pauses  in  which,  leaning 
back  in  her  chair,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  silvery 
world  outside: 

8 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

The  solemn  poplars,  murmuring  and  dark, 
The  poplars  near  my  window  in  the  night, 
Stir  in  the  midnight  wind  beneath  the  moon. 
They  flow  and  ripple  like  the  sad  sea-weed, 
In  air  like  water,  ripple  up  the  sky. 

Lost  in  the  crystal  depths  I  seem  to  see 

The  dim  moon  far  and  high  above  me  shine, 

'With  ghostly  loveliness  above  me  shine, 

As  though  it  shone  through  fathoms  deep  and  cold, 

As  though  I  looked  through  water  at  the  moon. 

And  I  am  lonely  in  the  midnight  world, 
Lonely  in  fathoms  deep  beneath  the  moon, 
Lonely  beside  the  flowing  poplars  dark, 
Like  a  drowned  heart  rocked  on  the  ocean's  bed. 

She  had  hardly  finished  the  lines  and  was  looking 
at  them,  already  with  indifference,  when  there  came  a 
knock  at  the  flimsy  partition  between  her  room  and 
the  next.  "  Persis,"  said  her  mother's  mild  voice, 
"  are  n't  you  in  bed  yet  ?  " 

Persis  turned  a  vague  eye  upon  the  wall  from  which 
the  sound  emanated  and  for  some  moments  did  not 
reply.  Then,  as  if  the  meaning  of  the  question  had 
only  just  reached  her,  she  answered,  "  No." 

"  Are  you  going  to  bed  soon  ?  "  the  voice  continued. 

Persis  would  have  liked  to  say  no,  to  this  also,  but 
reflecting  that  she  was  indeed  very  tired  and  that, 
moreover,  there  would  be  little  further  satisfaction 
in  her  vigils  now  that  she  knew  her  mother  to  be  aware 
of  them,  she  replied  that  she  was. 

"  Well,"  came  the  flat,  unemphatic  accents,  "  I  ex- 

9 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

pect  your  feet  are  pretty  cold,  are  n't  they,  and  that 
you  'd  better  have  a  hot-water  bottle." 

Prose  though  it  was  after  her  poetry,  the  suggestion 
did  not  strike  the  young  girl  as  ironic.  She  was  accus- 
tomed to  seeing  her  life  in  two  compartments  and  to 
passing  easily  from  the  desolate  loneliness  of  her  inner 
experience  to  the  peopled,  cheerful  outer  world  where 
her  mother  dwelt.  She  rose  now,  got  her  bottle  and 
went  into  her  mother's  room. 

Mrs.  Fennamy  was  sitting  up  in  bed  reading,  as 
Persis  had  seen  her  do  for  so  many  years  in  so  many 
hotels  and  pensions.  Two  candles  were  placed  upon 
the  corner  of  the  stand  beside  her  pillow  and  she  had 
just  laid  a  French  novel  down  upon  the  bed-clothes. 
She  wore  a  pink  dressing  jacket  over  her  ruffled  night- 
dress and  her  abundant,  if  faded,  golden  hair  was 
neatly  twisted,  on  her  forehead,  in  little  implements 
of  wire  and  leather.  But,  even  at  such  an  unpropitious 
moment,  her  placid,  delicately  tinted  face,  with  its 
small,  full,  slightly  withered  lips,  its  minute  nose  and 
curiously  transparent  eyes,  was  not  devoid  of  charm. 
Persis  often  thought  that  her  mother  looked  like  a 
doll.  She  suggested  analogies  of  wax  and  glass  and 
kid.  Her  personality  was  unruffled,  unemotional  and 
singularly  limited  and  literal.  Yet  she  could  never 
satisfy  herself  as  to  how  far  the  limitations  extended 
nor  as  to  what  might  be  hidden  beneath  the  literalness, 
and  this  uncertainty  constituted  a  standing,  if  dim, 
perplexity  in  her  life.  Mrs.  Fennamy  never  thwarted, 
never  criticised,  never  complained ;  her  affection  for  her 

10 


THE  ENCOUNTER' 

child,  as  unexacting  as  it  was  undemonstrative,  Persis 
knew  to  be  the  mainspring  of  her  existence  and  all  her 
activities  to  be  conditioned  by  her  daughter's  wishes; 
yet,  beyond  such  outer  adaptations,  she  never  felt  that 
she  influenced  her  mother  in  any  way,  and,  at  moments, 
unexpectedly,  disconcertingly,  she  would  find  herself 
arrested,  brought  to  a  consciousness  of  what,  before, 
she  had  not  seen,  by  some  chance  comment  of  her 
mother's,  some  expression  of  a  laconic,  disenchanting 
realism  beside  which  her  own  impressions  became  ro- 
mantic and  even  ingenuous.  Her  mother,  however, 
occupied  her  thoughts  very  little;  she  was  merely,  in 
her  remote  fashion,  aware  of  being  fond  of  her  and 
of  relying  upon  her  very  much  as  she  relied  upon  the 
comfortable  things  with  which  she  associated  her — 
cafe  au  lait  and  travelling-cushions  and  hot-water  bot- 
tles and  eau-de-Cologne.  In  her  nomadic  life  Mrs. 
Fennamy  had  reduced  a  combined  economy  and  com- 
fort to  a  fine  art. 

She  had  raised  herself  on  her  pillows  when  her 
daughter  entered  and  lighted  the  little  travelling  spirit- 
lamp  that  stood  in  readiness,  as  always,  beside 
the  candles.  With  how  many  nocturnal  incidents 
Persis  associated  that  spirit-lamp !  The  little  saucepan 
of  hot  water  was  placed  upon  it  and  Persis  suspended 
her  bottle  in  readiness  upon  the  back  of  a  chair,  lean- 
ing, while  she  waited,  on  the  brass  railing  at  the  foot 
of  her  mother's  bed. 

"What  is  your  novel?"  she  inquired  presently, 
glancing  at  the  yellow-backed  volume. 

ii 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

" '  Rouge  et  Noir ' — Have  you  read  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  've  read  it,"  said  Persis.  She  could  not 
remember  a  time  when  she  had  not  read  what  she 
wished  to  read. 

"  It 's  pretty  depressing,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy ;  and, 
the  water  having  begun  faintly  to  sing,  "  Fill  your 
bottle  before  it  boils,"  she  said.  "  The  way  they  go 
is  something  dreadful;  the  neck  of  my  new  one 's 
begun  to  leak  already."  And  she  then  went  on,  picking 
up  her  book  again  and  adjusting  her  pince-nez  with  a 
slender  little  hand,  "  And  it 's  pretty  improper,  too. 
I  suppose  the  young  man  gets  his  head  cut  off.  I  'm 
almost  too  sleepy  to  go  on  and  find  out  to-night." 

"  Yes;  he  gets  his  head  cut  off,"  said  Persis,  smiling 
slightly  as  she  filled  the  bottle. 

"Well,  he  deserves  it,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy. 
"  He  's  about  the  meanest  thing  I  ever  came  across." 

"  He  was  mean,  certainly,"  Persis  assented,  screwing 
on  her  top ;  "  but  there  is  something  piteous  about 
him,  too.  It's  like  seeing  a  rapid,  bright  little  bird 
of  prey  shot  down." 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  I  feel  sorry  for  any  of  them," 
said  Mrs.  Fennamy.  "They  all  behaved  about  as 
badly  as  they  could.  What  they  found  in  him  to  fall 
in  love  with  I  can't  imagine.  Good-night,  dear." 

Persis  stooped  over  her  and  they  kissed  affection- 
ately. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  KNOCK  came  at  Mrs.  Fennamy's  door,  when 
Persis    and    her    mother   were    haring    their 
breakfast  together,  and  a  deep,  tragic  voire,  speaking 
English,  but  with  an  Italian  accent,  inquired :     "  I 
may  come  in  ?  " 

"  Come  in !  Come  in,  Eleanora ! "  mother  and 
daughter  replied,  and,  the  door  opening,  as  if  with 
precaution,  an  extraordinary-looking  woman  slid  into 
the  room,  recalling,  in  her  decorated  height,  her  as  it 
were  sombre  festivity,  a  may-pole  by  Goya. 

She  was  tall  and  gaunt  and  sallow,  her  face  set  with 
dark  eyes  and  with  spacious  teeth,  like  the  ivory  keys 
of  an  ancient  piano.  Her  brow,  under  a  thatch  of 
dusty  black  hair,  was  ample  and  innocent,  and  she  had 
a  retreating  chin  and  dilated,  histrionic  nostrils. 

This  was  the  Signorina  Eleanora  Zardo,  an  old  and 
devoted  friend,  of  whom  Persis  had  said  that  she  had 
the  brow  and  eyes  of  a  sibyl  and  the  mouth  and  chin  of 
a  rabbit.  "  Or,  perhaps,"  she  had  altered  her  meta- 
phor, meditating  the  passionate  benevolence,  the  ex- 
travagance and  strangeness  of  their  Eleanora,  "  more 
like  a  desert  saint  than  a  sibyl — Saint  Mary  of  Egypt. 
Can't  you  see  her  eyes  gazing  at  you  from  a  cave  ?  " 
Mrs.  Fennamy  had  assented  to  this,  adding  that  she 

13 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

supposed  Saint  Mary  of  Egypt,  also,  did  not  very 
often  wash.  Eleanora's  hap-hazard  personal  habits 
were  the  subject  of  frequent  and  distressed  cogitations 
on  Mrs.  Fennamy's  part. 

Persis  had  defended  her  from  the  imputation. 
Eleanora,  after  all,  steeped  herself  in  mud  once  a  year 
at  Tannenkreuz,  and  that  was  more  than  one  could  say 
of  Saint  f^ary  of  Egypt ;  but  Mrs.  Fennamy  surmised 
that  Saint  Mary  had  spent  her  life  sitting  in  hot  sand, 
and  that  hot  sand  was  very  cleansing. 

Signorina  Zardo  was;  indeed,  ambiguously  dishev- 
elled with  her  impenetrable  hair  and  great,  black, 
plumed,  battered  and  dusty  hat  and  her  tattered  silks 
and  laces,  rose  and  black  and  grey,  all  strangely  caught 
together  by  tarnished  safety  pins  or  old  cameos  and 
mosaics.  Long  earrings  of  pearl  and  coral  repaired 
with  white  thread  dangled  *irom  her  ears;  the  ruffled 
lace  at  her  elbows  was  old  and  dingy. 

Signorina  Zardo  was  a  scholar,  and  had  lectured  on 
Dante,  in  London,  Boston  and  Berlin.  Her  friend- 
ships were  cosmopolitan.  She  lived  when  at  home,  in 
Florence,  in  the  darkest  of  little  entresols,  and  gave 
counsel,  consolation  and  often,  from  meagre  resources, 
material  assistance  to  numberless  proteges,  many  of 
them  of  European  disreputability.  Nothing  could 
chill  or  repel  her  devotion.  On  her  mother's  side  she 
derived  from  an  ancient  and  iniquitous  family.  She 
was  the  fruit  of  a  mesalliance;  her  father  had  been  a 
music-teacher. 

She  had  come  to  Tannenkreuz  some  weeks  before 

14 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

the  Fennamys,  and  was  staying  at  a  cheaper  pension 
near  by. 

"  My  dears — what  can  you  think  or  guess !  " — she 
said,  after  she  had  placed  her  parasol  in  a  corner  and 
seated  herself  near  the  bed,  where,  the  breakfast  tray 
upon  her  knees,  Mrs.  Fennamy  sat  propped  on  pillows. 
"  Je  vous  le  donne  en  cent.  I  had  myself  no  idea — 
not  the  faintest — of  such  a  thing.  He  is  here !  Lud- 
wig  is  here!  I  have  but  just  seen  him! " 

Mrs.  Fennamy  looked  up  from  the  roll  she  was  but- 
tering. She  always  had  her  bath  and  did  her  hair 
before  she  breakfasted.  Her  head  now  was  a  master- 
piece of  compact  puff  and  fluff  and  coil.  The  light 
fringe  that  covered  half  her  forehead  gave  to  her 
clear,  incurious  eyes  an  added  and  almost  infantile 
directness.  "Ludwig?"  she  inquired.  "Who, 
Eleanora  dear,  is  Ludwig?" 

Persis  answered  her.  "  There  is  only  one  Ludwig, 
mamma;  Herr  Wehlitz,  of  course;  Eleanora's  phi- 
losopher friend.  Is  he  staying  in  Tannenkreuz,  Elea- 
nora?" 

"  Yes,  my  child ;  staying  here.  And  I  had  thought 
him  in  Switzerland.  His  health  is  bad.  You  will 
remember  my  anxieties  on  the  score  of  his  health.  It 
was,  I  find,  a  sudden  decision  to  come  to  Tannenkreuz. 
Herr  Sachs  advised  the  baths,  and  Ludwig  then  re- 
membered that  I  had  spoken  well  of  them.  They 
came  on  at  once  from  the  Engadine.  Already,  he 
says,  he  feels  benefitted.  Yes;  he  will  doubtless  be 
here  for  the  rest  of  our  own  stay." 

15 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  I  remember  now,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  said,  adding 
honey  to  her  roll.  "  He  is  the  man  who  writes  the 
queer  books  and  who  quarrels  with  all  his  friends. 
You  are  the  only  one  he  has  n't  quarrelled  with,  are  n't 
you,  Eleanora  ?  " 

Signorina  Zardo,  at  this,  threw  up  her  hands  and 
eyes  as  if  at  an  incorrigible  child.  "  Annetta  mia!" 
she  murmured.  "  Know,  my  friend,"  she  went  on, 
smiling  and  shaking  her  head,  "  know  that  a  giant 
such  as  Ludwig  wrestles  ^only  with  those  approaching 
his  own  stature.  The  pigmies  he  leaves  in  peace. 
Why  not?  They  can  do  him  no  affront.  I,  to  my 
great  Ludwig,  am  such  a  pigmy.  I  do  not  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  thunderstorms  I  see  raging  above 
my  head.  So  I  tell  him.  So  I  am  safe.  I  do  not 
understand  his  books.  They  are  terrible  and  full  of 
splendour;  abysses  where  one  sees  great  lights — fall- 
ing— or  mounting.  Abysses  that  may  be  heavens  " — 
Signorina  Zardo's  voice  had  fallen  to  a  low  note  of 
awed  melancholy  as  she  spoke — "  but  not  mine ;  not 
mine,"  she  finished.  She  counted  herself  an  idealist 
free-thinker;  yet  the  roots  of  her  Church  were  deep 
in  her. 

Persis,  who  had  glanced  away  from  her  and  back 
at  her  and  up  at  the  ceiling  and  out  of  the  window, 
while  she  was  speaking,  now  said :  "  You  pretend 
not  to  understand  his  books  so  that  you  need  not  quar- 
rel with  him,  so  that  you  may  keep  him  your  friend. 
You  do  understand  them  and  you  abhor  them." 

For  a  moment  Signorina  Zardo,  fixing  her  great 

16 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

eyes  upon  the  girl,  contemplated  her  in  silence.  Then, 
her  face  softening  to  a  half  playful,  half  cajoling 
smile,  she  again  shook  her  head  and,  putting  a  finger 
to  her  lips,  said  in  a  stage  whisper:  "  And  if  it  is  so, 
Persis?  If  it  is  so?  I  throw  myself  upon  your 
mercy ! " 

"  I  won't  betray  you,"  said  Persis  slightly  smiling. 
"  He  shall  keep  his  only  friend  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned." 

"  Ah — but  you  are  mistaken — I  am  not  his  only 
friend.  He  still  has  friends,  and  devoted  friends, 
with  him.  Herr  Sachs  is  such  a  one,  and  Graf  von 
Liidenstein  should  be  counted  among  them.  And  I 
want  him  to  make  yet  another,"  Signorina  Zardo  went 
on,  leaning  to  the  young  girl  and  taking  her  hand. 
"  I  want  him  to  know  our  Persis ;  our  poetess ;  our 
strange  dreamy  head.  You  are  to  meet.  And  if  you 
have  often  heard  his  name  on  my  lips  be  assured  that 
he  has  often  heard  yours." 

"  We  must  meet,  of  course,"  said  Persis,  "  but 
whether  to  be  friends  is  another  question.  I  may  like 
the  man  less  than  his  books — for  his  books  I  do  like — 
they  do  not  frighten  me  at  all.  Do  you  remember, 
Eleanora,  three  years  ago  in  Florence,  the  day  I  cut 
my  hand  and  you  took  me  into  your  room  to  bind  it 
up,  and  I  leaned  over  your  dressing-table  to  see  the 
photograph  standing  there?  It  stood  next  to  one  of 
me — that  may  have  been  a  good  omen — and  I  spotted 
it  with  blood  when  I  took  it  up,  and  that  may  have 
been  a  bad  one.  But  you  told  me  then  that  he  was 

17 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

your  great  unhappy  friend  and  that  I — though  I  was 
only  sixteen — was  the  only  woman  you  had  known 
who  could  understand  him.  I  have  always  wished  to 
meet  him,  too,  since  then." 

Persis  Fennamy  spoke  with  a  singular  maturity. 
She  had  been  versed  since  childhood  in  foreign 
tongues,  and  her  own  had  come  to  be  but  one  among 
many,  to  be  used  with  the  same  ease  and  the  same 
exactitude.  There  was  nothing  girlish,  nothing  care- 
less or  excessive  in  her  use  of  words. 

"  I  remember.  I  have  always  remembered.  I 
have  always  intended  that  you  should  meet,"  said 
Signorina  Zardo.  "  For  years  those  two  faces  have 
stood  together  on  my  table.  You  have  always  been 
as  different  from  other  women  as  he  from  other  men. 
You  are  fitted,  as  no  one  else  whom  I  have  known,  to 
be  his  disciple.  Often,  in  what  you  say,  I  hear  his 
own  irony,  his  own  scorn,  and  his  aspiration."  She 
and  Persis  looked  at  each  other,  Signorina  Zardo  with 
solemnity,  the  young  girl,  though  slightly  smiling, 
with  an  accepting  gravity. 

"  Has  he  still  that  big  moustache  ?  "  Mrs.  Fennamy 
inquired,  pouring  out  her  second  cup  of  coffee.  She 
was  an  abstemious  little  person  and  breakfast  was, 
to  her,  the  chief  meal  of  the  day.  "  I  remember  that 
photograph.  I  never  liked  those  big,  gushing  mous- 
taches. I  always  think  a  man  must  have  a  weak 
mouth  when  he  wears  such  a  big  moustache." 

Mrs.  Fennamy  often  disconcerted  Signorina  Zardo. 
She  was  disconcerted  now  and  glanced  at  Persis, 

18 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

murmuring :  "  Weak  ?  There  is  nothing  in  Ludwig 
that  is  weak.  Strength  is  his  creed;  he  is  the  apostle 
of  strength.  It  is  a  mere  matter  of  fashion,  the  way 
in  which  a  man  may  choose  to  wear  his  moustache 
...  Is  it  not  so,  cherie?"  She  was  troubled.  Her 
eyes  dwelt  almost  with  appeal  on  Persis. 

"Of  course  it  is/'  said  Persis,  taking  up  her  neg- 
lected cup  of  coffee.  "  Like  the  colour  of  neck-ties  or 
the  cut  of  trousers.  How  horrid;  my  coffee  is  quite 
cold." 

"  There's  plenty  more  milk  here,"  said  Mrs.  Fen- 
namy,  pouring  the  tepid  contents  of  the  milk-jug  into 
her  ubiquitous  saucepan.  "  Heat  it  on  the  spirit- 
lamp."  And  she  went  on  as  unpolemically  as  if  the 
milk  alone  were  in  question :  "  Glaring  eyes  are  n't 
a  matter  of  fashion,  anyway.  I  think  a  man  whose 
eyes  glare  when  he  is  being  photographed  must  be 
weak  in  some  ways.  It's  all  very  well  to  glare 
when  you  're  looking  down  an  abyss."  And  she 
added,  since  to  this  there  was  no  reply :  "  And  as  for 
trousers,  you  know,  Persis,  you  never  could  bear  that 
young  Englishman  we  met  on  the  Riviera,  because  his 
trousers  were  too  loose." 

"  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether  I  shall  be  able  to 
bear  Herr  Wehlitz,  since  his  moustache  is  too  big," 
said  Persis.  "  When  are  we  to  meet,  Eleanora  ?  I 
promise  you  to  see  the  moustache  and  the  glare  in 
true  proportion.  I  imagine  that  I  shall  be  able  to 
forgive  them  to  him." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  forgive !  He  is  not  one  to  need 

19 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

forgiveness ! "  Signorina  Zardo  murmured,  vexed, 
almost  to  tears,  it  was  evident,  by  her  friend's  levity. 
"  But  for  the  meeting,  that  is  not  yet  arranged.  I 
am  to  go  to  his  hotel  at  one — he  is  at  the  Beau  Sejour 
— and  then  we  will  see  what  can  be  settled.  Ludwig 
is  capricious,  uncertain,  and  by  no  means  re-estab- 
lished yet  in  health.  He  cannot  count  upon  himself." 

Persis  stood  watching  her  milk  slowly  heave  in  the 
saucepan  and  since  she  was  silent  Signorina  Zardo 
went  on  to  say  that  Herr  Sachs,  Ludwig's  devoted 
friend,  had  come  with  him  to  Tannenkreuz  and,  in- 
deed, had  been  with  him  for  over  a  year  now.  He 
was  a  cripple;  an  admirable  little  person.  Graf  von 
Liidenstein,  too,  a  very  brilliant  man,  a  man  of  the 
world,  had  come  in  order  to  be  near  Ludwig,  for 
whom  his  admiration  was  unbounded. 

Persis  now  laid  the  little  silver  strainer  on  her  cup 
and  poured  out  her  hot  milk,  and,  as  she  came  back 
to  her  seat,  she  remarked  that  they  could  meet  Herr 
Wehlitz  that  afternoon  at  four  in  the  Kur-Garten. 

Signorina  Zardo,  had  she  been  less  gladly  preoccu- 
pied, might  have  perceived  from  the  young  girl's 
slightly  sulky  air  that  in  her  own  betrayal  of  uncer- 
tainty she  had  blundered. 


CHAPTER  III 

MRS.  FENNAMY  and  Signorina  Zardo  had 
met  twelve  years  before  at  a  Swiss  hotel 
where  their  modest  au  quatrieme,  united  by  a  balcony, 
overlooked  a  great  lake  and  a  range  of  snowy  Alps. 

Persis  had  then  been  seven  years  old,  an  unusual 
little  girl,  with  brilliant,  glancing  eyes,  dark  brows 
and  radiant  hair  falling  to  her  waist.  Her  clothes, 
too — for  Mrs.  Fennamy  had  always  known  how  to 
dress  her  child — had  been  unusual;  little  cloaks  of 
poppy-red  silk  over  white  lawn  frocks;  small  black 
shoes,  like  those  of  Alice-in- Wonderland,  strapped 
across  white  socks,  and  shell-like  little  hats  of  fine 
white  straw.  It  was  the  child,  rather  than  the  un- 
obtrusively elegant  mother,  who  had  first  attracted 
Signorina  Zardo's  attention  as  she  stood  leaning  on 
the  balcony,  gazing  with  pondering,  perplexed  brows 
at  the  sunlit  evening  clouds.  "  Is  it  an  only  child, 
madame  ?  "  she  had  inquired  when  the  little  girl  had 
been  taken  away  to  bed  and  she  and  Mrs.  Fennamy, 
divided  only  by  an  iron  railing,  sat  over  their  coffee. 

"  Yes ;  she  is  my  only  child,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  re- 
plied. 

Mrs.  Fennamy  neither  invited  nor  repelled  casual 
acquaintances.  Signorina  Zardo  seemed  to  her  rather 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ridiculous-looking,  and  distressingly  unkempt,  but  she 
was  quite  willing  to  talk  to  her,  dimly  aware  of  some- 
thing in  the  aspect  of  the  melancholy  Italian  which 
pleased  her  more  than  her  untidiness  displeased.  She 
had  had  no  opportunity  to  make  acquaintances  other 
than  casual.  Her  friends,  the  gentry  of  a  small,  far- 
away American  town,  were  not  of  a  kind  who  could 
offer  European  letters  of  introduction.  When  they 
went  to  Europe,  a  rite  almost  as  punctually  accom- 
plished as  "  coming  out "  or  confirmation,  they  were 
occupied,  solely  and  perforce,  with  the  sights  of  the 
countries  they  visited  and  not  with  their  societies. 
The  people  in  Ashleyville  couldn't  imagine  why 
Annette  Fennamy  should  care  to  go  wandering  about 
with  her  child  as  she  had  now  done  for  two  years; 
for  her  letters  never  conveyed  the  least  appreciation 
of  the  opportunities  for  culture  amongst  which  she 
moved.  Nor  did  she  write  of  people.  Her  life 
seemed  a  serene  and  aimless  oscillation. 

"A  very  unusual  little  child,"  Signorina  Zardo 
pursued  on  this  occasion,  a  momentous  one  for  mother 
and  daughter.  "  And  you  travel  with  her  ?  You 
will  educate  her  in  Europe? — You  are  an  American, 
are  you  not?" 

"Yes,  we're  Americans,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy, 
"  and  I  expect  I  '11  keep  Persis  over  here  till  she  's 
grown  up." 

Signorina  Zardo  showed  her  surprise.  "  But  that 
will  be  many  years!  You  have  friends  on  this  side? 
Your  little  child  has  companions?  She  will  not  miss 

22 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

her  home? — Or  are  you  perhaps  training  her  to  a 
vocation  ?  " 

"  No ;  we  don't  know  anybody,  hardly,  over  here. 
A  friend  of  mine  is  married  in  London,  but  we  don't 
care  much  about  her  husband — and  we  met  some 
people  we  took  to  a  great  deal  in  Florence."  Mrs. 
Fennamy  quite  spoke  as  if  the  tastes  of  her  child 
counted  with  her  own.  "  But  that 's  all.  I  don't 
think  Persis  misses  anything.  She  's  too  young  to 
miss  anything.  And  we  have  n't  a  home,  exactly,  any 
longer.  I  'm  a  widow ;  my  mother  died  three  years 
ago  and  my  father 's  been  dead  for  a  long  time  and  I 
never  had  any  brothers  or  sisters.  It  seemed  more 
satisfactory  to  come  over  here  than  to  stay  in  Ashley- 
ville;  not  that  I  couldn't  be  very  contented  in  Ash- 
leyville." 

"* Ashleyville ?  Where  is  that?  I  have  been  in 
America,  but  I  do  not  remember  the  name."  The 
Italian  lady  was  frankly  curious. 

"  Well,  you  'd  not  be  likely  to  have  heard  of  Ash- 
leyville,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy  with  her  small  smile 
that  neither  apologized  for  the  insignificance  of  her 
native  place  nor  claimed  acknowledgment  for  its 
dignity.  "  Yes,  it 's  a  small  town."  She  told  Signor- 
ina  Zardo  all  about  Ashleyville;  its  derivation  from 
New  England  and  Virginia ;  its  drowsy  streets,  shaded 
by  avenues  of  trees;  its  sober  Colonial  houses;  its 
strict  social  traditions  of  mingled  austerity  and  inno- 
cence. She  placed  it  with  affectionate  impartiality. 
"  Yes ;  it 's  simple  in  some  ways ;  most  ways,  perhaps ; 

23 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

but  not  in  the  ways  Europeans  expect  to  find.  It's 
the  kind  of  place  they  never  seem  to  see.  It  isn't  a 
bit  crude  or  hurried  or  anxious.  It  just  thinks  it 's  all 
right  and  it 's  been  thinking  so  for  a  good  while — as 
good  whiles  go  in  America.  It 's  just  as  peaceful  and 
as  contented  as  can  be  and  the  people  are  the  nicest  sort 
of  people,  only  caring  about  reading  all  the  best  books 
and  bringing  up  their  children  well  and  having  nice, 
sweet  homes;"  Mrs.  Fennamy  spoke  with  tenderness. 
"  I  could  be  very  contented  in  Ashleyville,"  she  re- 
peated ;  "  but  I  felt  from  the  first  that  Persis  did  n't 
belong  there." 

"  Indeed  ?  She  did  not  belong  there  ?  It  was  too 
peaceful,  too  kind  and  too  rooted  for  your  potent 
little  child?  Yes,  I  can  understand  your  feeling. 
And  what  then  of  your  larger  cities?  New  York,  or 
Boston  ?  Did  you  think  of  them  ?  " 

"  Yes;  I  thought  of  them;  I  have  some  friends  in 
New  York.  I  stayed  there  one  winter  after  I  married 
and  I  liked  it  in  a  way;  but  as  far  as  the  people  went 
it  seemed  to  me  pretty  much  the  same  as  Ashleyville. 
They  were  just  the  same  people,  except  that  they  had 
better  accents  and  that  more  of  them  had  their  clothes 
made  in  Paris  and  gave  dinner-parties  instead  of 
luncheons;  they  weren't  a  bit  different;  and  what  I 
felt  about  Persis  was  that  she  was  different.  So  I 
thought  we  'd  better  leave  America.  I  thought 
there  'd  be  more  chance  of  being  different  over  here." 

Signorina  Zardo  had  kept  her  eyes  upon  the  little 
lady  with  deepening  interest.  "  But  it  is  a  very 

24 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

extraordinary,  a  very  strange  and  valiant  motive;  to 
leave  your  home,  your  kindred  and  all  you  care  for," 
she  exclaimed.  "  You  believe  in  your  child's  destiny. 
You  sacrifice  your  life  to  that." 

This  romantic  interpretation  did  not  seem  to  fit  in 
with  Mrs.  Fennamy's  conception  of  the  case.  She 
shook  her  head  saying :  "  I  don't  know  about  a 
destiny.  I  don't  feel  ambitious,  exactly,  about  her. 
I  just  feel  as  if  I  was  taking  a  fish  out  of  so  ft- water 
where  it  did  n't  belong  and  putting  it  in  the  sea,  where 
it  did,  to  take  its  chances.  It 's  not  sacrificing  my 
life.  Persis  is  the  most  interesting  thing  in  my  life, 
and  the  most  interesting  thing  I  can  do  is  to  give  her 
all  the  chances  I  can." 

Signorina  Zardo's  gaze  dwelt  on  her  as  she  broke  a 
tablet  of  beetroot  sugar  to  the  required  length  and 
dropped  it  into  her  second  cup  of  coffee.  It  was 
arresting  to  receive  so  strongly  an  impression  of  the 
indomitable,  the  inflexible,  the  purposeful  from  one 
apparently  so  trivial,  these  qualities  seeming  as  far 
removed  from  the  little  lady  with  her  fair,  elaborate 
head  and  black  lace  frills  and  pale  blue  bows  as  were 
the  snowy  Alps  from  tablets  of  beetroot  sugar.  There 
was  no  emotion,  no  enthusiasm,  no  romance  about 
her,  yet  Signorina  Zardo  had  rarely  felt  more  arrested 
by  anyone. 

"  Signora,"  she  said,  "  you  and  your  Persis  interest 
me  greatly.  Will  you  count  me  among  the  many  new 
friends  that  your  new  life  will  surely  bring  you?" 
And  Mrs.  Fennamy,  smiling  quietly  at  her  while  she 

25 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

stirred  her  coffee,  said,  "  Why  yes ;  thank  you  ever  so 
much.  You  wont  find  me  interesting,  you  know,  but 
as  Persis  grows  up  she  '11  interest  you  more  and  more, 
I  feel  sure;  and  you're  just  the  sort  of  friend  I  want 
for  Persis.  You  're  different,  too.  There  was  noth- 
ing in  Ashleyville  a  bit  like  you." 

After  that,  on  sunny  mornings,  when  she  and 
Signorina  Zardo  sat  under  the  trees  in  the  garden 
watching  Persis  play,  Mrs.  Fennamy  would  talk  about 
her  child  for  as  long  as  her  new  friend  cared  to  ques- 
tion her.  Persis  usually  played  alone,  going  in  and 
out  among  the  shrubberies  with  an  air  of  absorbed 
and  intricate  drama,  hiding,  tip-toeing  out,  and  racing 
suddenly  along  the  sanded  paths  to  the  far  wall  at  the 
lake-edge  where  her  bonne,  a  merry,  dark-eyed 
French  woman  with  close  white  cap  and  agile  hands, 
sat  sewing.  She  seemed  fond  of  her  bonne,  fonder, 
apparently,  than  of  her  mother,  and  would  throw  her- 
self, breathlessly,  against  her  knees,  looking  up  at  her 
in  some  secret  triumph.  She  did  not  seem  to  care  at 
all  for  dolls.  Signorina  Zardo  never  saw  her  with 
one.  "  No,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy.  "  She  likes  to 
look  at  them  at  first,  if  they  are  pretty  and  nicely 
dressed;  but  then  she  puts  them  away  and  seems  to 
forget  all  about  them.  And  she  doesn't  care  about 
other  children,  either.  I  asked  her  why  she  didn't 
play  with  that  little  Canadian  girl  who  is  always  fol- 
lowing her  about  and  she  said  she  did  n't  like  her,  and 
when  I  asked  why,  she  thought  a  moment  and  said  it 
was  because  she  wore  earrings.  I  don't  like  a  child  to 

26 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

wear  earrings  myself,  do  you?  And  she  says  she 
does  n't  like  the  way  another  little  girl's  hair  smells — 
it 's  perfectly  clean  hair,  you  know — only  she  says  it 
has  a  funny,  soapy  smell.  Sometimes  I  think  she 
has  n't  much  heart,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  went  on  dispas- 
sionately. "We  met  a  poor  old  beggar-woman  with 
one  eye  yesterday,  and  when  we  saw  her  Persis  ran 
up  to  me  and  took  hold  of  my  skirt  as  if  she  wanted 
to  be  protected — she  seems  really  to  be  afraid  of  any- 
thing ugly  or  unpleasant — and  I  told  her  it  was  n't 
brave  to  act  like  that,  and  to  try  and  see  if  she 
couldn't  be  brave,  like  Hercules  when  he  killed  the 
Hydra,  and  give  the  poor  old  woman  a  ten  centime 
piece.  And  do  you  know  what  she  said — looking  up 
at  me,  her  little  face  all  white  and  set — '  Why  does  n't 
some  one  kill  the  old  woman  ?  '  I  told  her  the  Hydra 
was  bad,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  continued  after  giving 
Signorina  Zardo  the  opportunity  for  a  vague  murmur, 
"  and  that  the  poor  old  woman  was  good,  and  then 
she  asked  me  how  I  knew  she  was  good,  and  I  could  n't 
think  of  anything  to  say  except  that  the  Hydra  would 
have  tried  to  tear  us  to  pieces,  but  that  all  that  the  old 
woman  wanted  was  a  little  money  to  get  herself  some 
food  and  that  I  'd  give  it  to  her  myself  if  she  was  too 
cowardly ;  and  that  braced  her  up  and  she  said :  *  Let 
me  give  her  five  francs,  then,  she  can  only  get  two 
sticks  of  sucre  d'orge  for  ten  centimes.'  So  I  gave 
her  a  franc — I  thought  five  too  much — and  when  she 
came  back  and  we  walked  away  she  was  rubbing  the 
hand  the  old  woman  had  taken,  and  when  I  asked  her 

27 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

why  she  did  that — the  old  woman  had  looked  quite 
clean  and  nice — she  said :  '  Her  hand  was  like  a 
hen's  foot,  mamma,  and  she  smelt  like  a  hen.'  She 
seems  to  go  very  much  by  smells.  But  it  sounds  as 
if  she  hadn't  much  heart,  doesn't  it?" 

"  I  am  afraid  she  will  not  like  me,  your  interesting 
child,"  said  Signorina  Zardo  with  her  benignant, 
melancholy  smile.  "  I  am  ugly,  and  perhaps  I,  too, 
smell  like  a  hen." 

"  Oh  no,  Persis  does  n't  think  so,"  Mrs.  Fennamy 
assured  her.  "  She  thinks  you  smell  like  an  old  trunk 
of  mine  where  I  keep  fur  and  things  in  camphor ;  it 's 
a  rather  nice  smell.  The  trunk  has  a  picture  of  the 
Bay  of  Naples  inside  the  lid,  and  perhaps  that  made 
her  think  of  it,  too.  I  told  her  you  were  an  Ital- 
ian." 

Persis  had,  as  yet,  made  no  advances  towards 
acquaintance  with  her  mother's  new  friend,  but  that 
evening,  Signorina  Zardo,  finding  her  alone  and  lean- 
ing on  the  railing  of  the  balcony,  the  little  girl  turned 
her  eyes  on  her  and  said :  "  Will  you  tell  me  a 
story  ?  " 

"  A  story  ?  What  kind  of  a  story  ? "  Signorina 
Zardo  asked,  much  pleased ;  "  I  am  not  good  at  tell- 
ing stories,  I  fear." 

"Aren't  you?"  Persis  said,  her  radiant  yet  cold 
gaze  dwelling  on  her.  "  But  your  eyes  are  full  of 
stories." 

"Are  they,  indeed?  Sad  ones,  perhaps  you 
think?" 

28 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Yes ;  very  sad,"  said  Persis,  nodding.  "  All  the 
things  that  have  happened  to  you,  I  guess.  Were  you 
whipped  and  starved  when  you  were  little  and  shut  in 
prisons  like  Marie  Antoinette  ?  Did  you  ever  see  peo- 
ple having  their  heads  cut  off?  " 

"  Dio  mio!  No.  Such  horrors  were  not  in  my 
day,  I  am  glad  to  say;  though  some  time,  when  you 
are  older  and  study  history,  you  may  care  to  hear 
many  wonderful  things  that  I  have  heard  my  father 
tell — stories  of  our  great  Italian  struggle  for  liberty. 
Dim  memories,  also,  of  my  own.  But  no;  I  was  not 
unkindly  treated  when  I  was  a  child.  My  parents 
died  when  I  was  still  young,  but  the  good  aunt  who 
brought  me  up  was  kind  to  me." 

"  Then,  when  you  grew  up,  perhaps  it  was  then 
that  sad  things  happened,"  said  Persis.  "  Perhaps 
robbers  carried  you  off  in  a  wood  and  put  you  in  a 
dark  cavern  with  bars  of  iron  across  the  entrance — 
so  dark  that  you  could  only  see  to  grope  your  way  to 
the  bowl  of  water  and  piece  of  dry  bread  they  left 
there  for  you.  And  at  night,  when  they  came  back, 
you  had  to  work  and  work — mending  their  clothes 
and  cooking  for  them — by  torchlight,  till  you  grew  so 
thin  and  yellow  and — from  being  so  much  in  the  dark 
— your  eyes  got  like  an  owl's  eyes.  Have  you  ever 
seen  an  owl  in  the  daytime?  Their  eyes  are  just  like 
yours." 

Signorina  Zardo's  eyes,  indeed,  dwelt  on  her  with 
something  of  the  bird's  nocturnal  melancholy. 
"  Strange  little  child,"  she  said,  "  you  put  me  into 

29 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

fairy-tales.  I  was  never  carried  off  by  robbers;  yet 
it  is  not  so  untrue,  what  you  say  of  my  life;  not  so 
untrue." 

Persis,  after  a  hesitation,  had  given  her  her  hand 
and  came  and  stood  beside  her  knee,  looking  up  at  her 
face  and  down  at  her  dress  and  ornaments  and  away 
at  the  sky  and  lake,  after  the  flitting  fashion  that 
Signorina  Zardo  had  already  remarked  as  character- 
istic of  her.  "  It  is  not  so  untrue,"  she  murmured, 
putting  back  the  child's  bright,  turbulent  hair  with  a 
gentle  hand.  "  I  have  been  very  poor — ah,  very  poor 
— and  that  is,  indeed,  to  be  in  a  dark  cavern.  And 
those  for  whom  I  toiled — (I  taught  and  wrote,  yes, 
far  into  the  night) — gave  me  little  more  than  bread 
and  water  in  return.  And  so  my  youth  passed  away, 
and  I  became  thin  and  pale  and  old.  Yet  it  was 
not  so  sad  as  you  might  think,  my  little  Persis. 
You  will  learn  that  one  may  find  treasures  in  the 
cavern  of  poverty  and,  perhaps,  see  angels  in  the 
dark." 

"Treasures?  what  sort  of  treasures?  These,  do 
you  mean  ?  "  Persis  asked,  touching  the  mosaics  and 
chains  and  cameos  with  which  Signorina  Zardo's 
wrists  and  throat  and  breast  were  decorated. 

"  No ;  not  these,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  something 
much  better  than  these  poor  yet  beloved  trinkets. 
The  treasures  I  mean  are  friends;  the  hearts  of 
friends." 

"  Have  you  a  great  many  friends  ?  "  Persis  asked, 
leaning  now  against  Signorina  Zardo's  knee  as  she 

30 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

looked  at  her,  some  personal  attraction  in  the  gentle 
Italian  overcoming  the  shrinking  from  physical  con- 
tact so  noticeable  in  the  child.  "  I  expect  you  have, 
because  you  would  be  so  good  to  them." 

"Yes;  I  have  many  dear  friends.  My  life  is 
blessed  indeed." 

"  And  did  you  really  see  angels  ?  Are  n't  angels 
make-believes,  like  fairies  and  Santa  Claus  ?  " 

"  No ;  "  Signorina  Zardo  shook  her  head.  "  Angels 
are  not  make-believes.  But  they  do  not  come  as  in 
the  picture-books.  They  are  the  thoughts  of  God 
that  visit  us." 

They  continued  to  look  at  each  other  for  a  little 
while  after  this,  Signorina  Zardo  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity for  influencing  a  young  mind  scantily  supplied, 
she  imagined,  with  spiritual  sustenance;  then  Persis 
said,  her  eyes  dilating  singularly :  "  I  pray  to  God 
every  night  and  morning,  grandmamma  taught  me  to, 
years  ago,  when  we  lived  in  America;  but  I  don't 
know  who  He  is  or  how  He  can  hear  me.  If  He  is 
good,  why  does  He  let  things  die?  I  saw  a  dead 
mouse  in  the  garden  yesterday.  It  had  blood  on  its 
nose,  and  when  I  saw  it  was  quite  dead,  it  frightened 
me  so  that  I  ran  away  and  hid  for  a  long  time  in  the 
bushes." 

As  she  spoke,  Signorina  Zardo  saw  that  she  was 
trembling.  She  lifted  her  to  her  lap,  the  little  body 
yielding  with  a  curious  languor,  in  which  her  new 
friend  read  the  benumbing  influences  of  the  remem- 
bered fear.  "Let  me  tell  you,  dear  child,"  she  said, 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  God  lets  nothing  really  die.  We  are  all  with  Him 
for  ever.  The  time  comes  when  our  task  here  is 
done  and  He  calls  us  elsewhere." 

"  Has  He  called  the  mouse  elsewhere  ? "  Persis 
asked,  leaning,  very  still,  against  her  shoulder. 

Signorina  Zardo's  theology  was  of  the  most  un- 
formulated;  but  to  a  child  it  seemed  more  suitable  to 
express  it  in  the  metaphors  of  her  church.  The  ques- 
tion of  the  mouse  gave  her  pause.  Fortunately,  or 
unfortunately,  Persis  passed  from  it.  "  Shall  we  be 
like  the  mouse  some  day  when  He  calls  us  else- 
where?" she  went  on. 

"  Yes ; "  said  Signorina  Zardo,  though  with  some 
reluctance.  "  Yes.  We  shall  leave  our  bodies  be- 
hind us  when  we  go." 

The  child  now  sat  upright  and  there  was  anger  as 
well  as  fear  in  her  widened  eyes.  "  But  I  don't  want 
to  leave  my  body,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  be 
like  the  mouse.  Will  there  be  blood  on  my  nose,  too  ? 
How  do  you  know  that  I  shall  die  ?  " 

Signorina  Zardo  was  much  disturbed.  "  When  the 
time  comes  we  must  all  go,"  she  varied  her  former 
assertion;  "though,  let  us  hope,  it  may  not  be  by  a 
sudden  death,  or  a  violent  one,  such  as  the  poor  mouse 
died.  There  is  nothing  to  fear,  my  child.  God  is 
with  us  always." 

But  Persis  slipped  down  and  away  from  her  arms. 
"  I  won't  die,"  she  said,  standing  still  and  looking 
at  Signorina  Zardo  with  a  cold  fixity  of  resolution. 
"  I  won't  go  when  He  calls  me  elsewhere.  You  may 

32 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

go,  if  you  like,  and  Mamma  may  go,  and  Abelline; 
but  I  will  stay  here." 

"  You  would  like  to  stay,  alone,  when  all  who  loved 
you  had  left  you?"  Signorina  Zardo  spoke  almost 
imploringly,  aghast  at  her  own  predicament. 

But  the  appeal  to  affection  was  vain.  "  Yes,  I 
would  rather  be  alone  than  like  the  mouse,"  said 
Persis. 

That  evening  Signorina  Zardo  confessed  to  Mrs. 
Fennamy  her  discomfiture.  "  It  was  stupid  of  me," 
she  said.  "  The  child  is  too  young  to  be  troubled 
with  such  thoughts.  I  tried,  it  is  true,  to  tell  her  of 
the  other  life,  of  heaven  and  all  the  happy  things  that 
we  should  do  there;  but  she  would  not  go  beyond  the 
fact  of  death." 

"  Why,  that  explains,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy,  "  why 
she  refused  to  say  her  prayers  to-night.  She  said  she 
was  n't  going  to  have  anything  to  do  with  God  any 
more.  Abelline,  who  is  a  very  superstitious  woman, 
told  her  she  'd  have  to  stay  in  Purgatory  for  ever  if 
she  did  n't  say  her  prayers,  and  Persis  said  she  wanted 
to  stay  in  Purgatory.  I  expect  she  thinks  she  '11  go 
on  living  if  she  pays  no  attention  to  God." 

"  But  it  is  sad ;  most  sad  and  unfortunate.  A 
young  child's  prayers;  they  are  the  framework  of  its 
life.  And  the  responsibility  is  mine.  What  would 
you  have  done  in  my  place,  signora  mia?  Was  I  mis- 
taken ?  "  Signorina  Zardo  inquired  anxiously. 

"  Why  no ;  I  don't  see  that  you  were,"  said  Mrs. 
Fennamy.  "  She  's  got  to  find  out  about  things  some 

33 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

day,  and  the  time  may  come  when  she  '11  perhaps  wish 
she  could  believe  there  was  a  God  to  call  her.  I  'm 
an  agnostic  myself,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  added,  without 
complacency  or  apology,  "  and  I  expect  Persis  will  be 
when  she  grows  up.  I  shan't  try  to  influence  her  in 
any  way.  She  shall  decide  about  things  for  herself." 

On  this  occasion — it  was  the  first  of  many  in  the 
years  to  come — Signorina  Zardo  essayed  to  make  a 
breach  in  her  friend's  unaggressive  scepticism,  gazing 
at  her  rather  helplessly  for  some  moment  before  mur- 
muring: "  But — signora,  you  are  not — forgive  me  if 
I  say  it,  for  is  it  not  so? — you  are  not  enough  a 
woman  of  thought  to  be  a  disbeliever.  One  must 
think  much  to  have  the  right  to  doubt.  And,  I  grant 
it  you — one  must  think  much  more  deeply — live  much 
more  deeply — to  have  the  right  to  believe.  I  do  not 
speak  of  orthodoxies.  I  speak  of  the  fundamental 
spiritual  needs  of  our  lives  which  we  symbolize  by  the 
words  God,  the  soul,  immortality." 

But  Mrs.  Fennamy  turned  mild  and  unacquiescent 
eyes  upon  her ;  "  I  know  I  'm  not  clever  enough.  I 
could  never  have  thought  it  all  out  by  myself.  It  was 
my  husband  who  explained  things  to  me.  I  'd  never 
been  religious;  it  was  that  that  made  him  take  an 
interest  in  me  in  the  beginning,  he  said,  when  he  first 
came  to  stay  in  Ashleyville.  He  used  to  laugh  at  me, 
but  it  interested  him;  my  family  were  all  church 
people,  and  I  'd  said  I  did  n't  want  to  be  confirmed. 
He  was  a  very  clever  man,  and  he  was  an  agnostic. 
That 's  why  my  family  were  so  upset  when  I  married 

34 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

him.  We  were  married  in  church,"  Mrs.  Fennamy 
went  on,  the  placid  rhythm  of  her  speech  unchanged, 
yet  with  a  certain  alteration  of  tone  perceptible  to  the 
Italian  woman's  discerning  ear.  "  He  did  n't  mind, 
and  neither  did  I;  and  I  knew  it  would  have  made 
mother  so  miserable  if  I  hadn't  been  married  in 
church  with  white  satin  and  orange-blossoms  and  a 
veil.  Persis  was  christened,  too.  But  we  neither  of 
us  believed  a  bit  in  it,  and  he  explained  everything  to 
me,  as  well  as  I  was  able  to  understand  it,  how  every- 
thing began  with  atoms  and  how,  when  we  died,  all 
that  went  on  was  the  way  we  'd  behaved,  and  how  the 
great  thing  in  life  is  to  be  interested,  and  kind  to  peo- 
ple. I  don't  suppose  I  '11  ever  think  any  differently 
about  it  all.  I  'm  not  likely  to  meet  anyone  cleverer 
than  he  was,  ever." 

Signorina  Zardo,  as  this  ingenuous  recital  came 
forth,  kept  her  eyes  on  the  little  lady's  face.  Strange 
in  her  very  shallowness,  and  mysterious  as  she  found 
her,  and  ludicrous,  too,  in  her  childlike  contentment 
with  her  sawdust  creed,  she  still  could  not  look  at  her 
or  listen  to  her  without  a  certain  respect;  tenderness, 
already,  she  felt.  She  now  said,  after  a  little  silence, 
"  Who  was  your  husband  ?  What  was  his  calling  ? 
Have  you  a  picture  of  him?  I  should  be  very  grate- 
ful if  I  might  see  it." 

"  Yes ;  I  have  a  picture ;  I  '11  show  it  to  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Fennamy,  the  slightly  altered  pitch  of  her  voice 
still  discernible.  "  He  was  Irish.  He  was  born  in 
Ireland  and  ran  away  from  home,  and  went  out  to 

35 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

California  and  did  all  sorts  of  things,  wrote  poetry 
and  ran  newspapers.  And  he  came  to  Ashleyville  and 
had  a  newspaper  there ;  it  was  the  most  brilliant  paper 
in  the  state,  everybody  said  so,  and  I  know  some  peo- 
ple thought  it  was  the  most  brilliant  paper  in  Amer- 
ica." 

Mrs.  Fennamy  rose  and  stepped  from  the  balcony 
into  her  room  from  which  she  presently  returned  with 
a  framed  photograph  in  her  hand.  "  Persis  looks  like 
him,  and  she  's  like  him  in  all  sorts  of  ways,"  she  said, 
giving  it  to  Signorina  Zardo.  "  It  comes  out  more 
and  more." 

This,  then,  was  the  heart  of  the  story.  Signorina 
Zardo,  appraiser  of  human  values  as  she  was,  gazed  at 
the  face,  capricious,  unstable,  proud,  gay,  intolerant. 
She  saw  the  child  in  it.  Yet,  raising  her  eyes  to  the 
wife's  face,  she  could  read  the  further  inheritance  that 
seemed  to  bind  the  glittering  sheaf  of  gifts  with  more 
stubborn,  more  tranquil,  if  simpler,  faculties.  "  I 
see ;  I  see,"  she  said,  gently.  "  Beauty  and  talent  and 
distinction." 

"  There  was  n't  ever  anybody  like  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Fennamy  in  a  low  voice,  turning  her  eyes  on  the 
Alps. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SIGNORINA  ZARDO,  in  her  glad  excitement 
that  August  afternoon  at  Tannenkreuz,  revealed 
again,  as  they  walked  to  the  Kur-Garten,  that  Herr 
Wehlitz's  consent  to  meet  her  friends  had  been 
wrested  from  some  unwillingness.  "  He  is,  as  a  rule, 
the  most  intractable  of  recluses,"  she  said,  "  but  I  have 
already  talked  to  him  of  Persis.  I  recalled  her  to 
him;  her  deep  studies,  her  independence,  her  courage; 
I  said  to  him,  as  I  have  said  to  you,  Persis,  that  here 
was  the  disciple,  young,  proud,  plastic,  able  to  bring 
him  a  homage  and  an  understanding  that  would  have 
its  inspiration.  For  he  feels  himself  isolated.  He  has 
swept  a  great  solitude  around  him.  His  life  is  on 
the  mountain-peaks;  his  former  associates  have  fallen 
from  him  and  watch  him  scale  the  heights  with  sullen 
or  malignant  eyes." 

"He  just  wanders  about,  doesn't  he,  Eleonora?" 
Mrs.  Fennamy  inquired,  "  living  in  pensions  and 
hotels.  Has  he  got  any  family  ?  " 

"  No ;  no  family ;  except  an  old  mother  who  under- 
stands him  in  nothing.  What  he  needs  is  a  disciple. 
Herr  Sachs  is  a  devoted  garde-malade  rather  than  a 
pupil  and  Graf  von  Liidenstein,  though  he  so  much 
admires  Ludwig,  does  not  trouble  himself  with  funda- 

37 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

mentals.  He  needs  one  who  will  sit  at  his  knee  and 
learn  from  him  and  then,  in  turn,  reinterpret  him  to 
the  world.  I  put  it  all  before  him  when  I  went  to 
him  after  leaving  you,  Persis,  and  he  said,  finally: — 
*  Bring  her.  I  will  see  her.'  He  will  be  there," 
Signorina  Zardo  asserted  with  grave  jubilation. 
"  Ludwig  is  one  to  keep  his  word." 

To  all  this  Persis  listened  in  silence,  slightly  knitting 
her  brows  now  and  then  and  now  and  then  turning  a 
glance  upon  her  old  friend  who,  with  stooping  shoul- 
ders, her  eyes  fixed  on  the  green  of  the  Kur-Garten, 
walked  beside  her  with  shambling  and  uneven  gait. 
Persis  walked  with  a  slow,  calm  step.  In  a  day  of 
constricted  waists  and  irrelevant  protuberances,  her 
black  silk  robe  fell  to  her  ankle  over  a  dress  of  muslin, 
fluent  and  unconfined,  that  gave  her  a  look  at  once 
childish  and  nymph-like.  Her  small  white  hat  was 
wreathed  with  green  and  on  her  breast  hung  a  disc  of 
ancient  gold,  curiously  engraved  and  fretted.  Mrs. 
Fennamy's  elegance  was  heightened  rather  than 
diminished  by  the  fact  that  her  little  bonnet,  tied 
under  her  chin  with  a  black  lace  bow,  was  in  a  bygone 
fashion;  it  was  a  shape  she  always  wore  and  it  be- 
came her  admirably.  Her  black  and  azure,  also,  was 
almost  invariable;  there  was  a  knot  of  blue  on  the 
handle  of  her  black  lace  parasol  and  touches  of  blue 
on  breast  and  sleeve.  Mother  and  daughter  were  un- 
usual and  people  turned  to  look  at  them  as  they 
passed. 

They  entered  the  Kur-Garten.  The  day  was  mild 

38 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

and  fresh.  The  sunlight  under  the  trees  lay  in  broken 
pools  upon  the  sanded  paths.  Near  the  distant  Kur- 
Haus  the  band  was  playing  the  Overture  to  Leonora. 

"  I  told  him  to  be  at  our  favourite  spot,  beyond  the 
grotto,"  Signorina  Zardo  murmured,  pressing  for- 
ward, and  they  turned  the  corner  where,  in  the  grotto, 
an  artificial  waterfall  plashed  and  tinkled  among  moss 
and  ferns. 

"  He  is  there !     It  is  he !  "  she  breathed. 

A  little  avenue  of  interlaced  lime-trees  led  to  the 
secluded  spot,  sunny  yet  shaded,  which  had  been  fixed 
upon  for  the  rendezvous,  and  here,  seated  at  a  table, 
were  three  men,  who  rose  to  their  feet  as  the  ladies 
appeared.  One,  dressed  in  a  short  black  coat  and 
checked  trousers  of  black  and  white,  was  slight  and 
dark;  he  stood  erect  and,  at  a  distance,  Persis  felt 
the  gaze  of  his  intent,  near-sighted  eyes.  Another, 
leaning  his  hand  on  his  chair  and  crossing  one  leg  over 
the  other,  was  of  the  robust,  well-fleshed,  Germanic 
type,  with  a  square  yellow  beard  and  eyeglasses. 
The  third  was  a  cripple,  with  broad,  stooping  shoul- 
ders, one  leg  in  its  clubbed  boot  far  shorter  than  the 
other,  and  a  large  head.  He  leaned  upon  a  crutch  and 
even  in  the  preoccupation  of  the  moment  Persis  was 
aware  of  his  curious  face,  tormented  yet  jocular,  and 
its  singular  half -grimace  of  the  comedian. 

"  My  dear  Ludwig !  Here  we  are ! "  Signorina 
Zardo  exclaimed,  advancing  with  hurrying  steps  and 
outstretched  hands.  "  A  propitious  day — is  it  not  ? — 
bright! — beautiful! — "  she  clasped  his  hand.  "  Sig- 

39 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

nora  Fennamy,  Signorina  Fennamy — Herr  Ludwig 
Wehlitz; — Graf  von  Liidenstein; — Herr  Conrad 
Sachs," — rapidly  she  presented  them,  turning  her  eyes 
again  on  Wehlitz.  "  At  last  I  see  you  meet.  Je  vois 
mes  vceux  exauces — You  will  sit,  Annetta,  here? — 
And  you,  Persis,  mia  cara,  here,  between  me  and 
Herr  Wehlitz?" 

Persis,  however,  had  already  taken  her  seat  at  the 
other  side  of  the  table.  She  laid  her  parasol  across 
her  knees  and  looked  about  her  with  a  gravity  almost 
severe. 

Signorina  Zardo  continued  to  talk  rapidly  while 
Mrs.  Fennamy,  attracting  the  attention  of  a  kelner, 
ordered  tea,  coffee  and  chocolate  according  to  the 
various  tastes  of  the  company.  Signorina  Zardo  had 
heard  from  Marius  that  morning,  their  wonderful 
Marius.  Had  Graf  von  Liidenstein  yet  heard  his  new 
quartette?  It  was  to  be  performed  at  Munich  next 
week  and  the  poor  fellow  was  in  great  emotion.  And 
Jean  Piridon  had  been  admirably  hung,  medaille  at 
the  Salon, — did  they  know  it?  She  had  not  seen  the 
picture,  but  it  was  highly  praised.  And  had  Graf  von 
Liidenstein  yet  read  Tolstoi's  last  work?  Oh,  she 
preferred  the  earlier  Tolstoi  of  the  "  Anna  "  and  the 
"  War  and  Peace."  The  proselytiser  had  almost 
stifled  the  artist.  Did  not  Graf  von  Liidenstein  think 
so? — Signorina  Zardo  addressed  her  remarks  to  Graf 
von  Liidenstein,  for  Mrs.  Fennamy  was  engaged  with 
the  waiter  and  the  attention  of  Herr  Wehlitz,  it  was 
abundantly  evident,  was  concentrated  upon  Persis. 

40 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

This  fact  filled  the  good  Eleanora  with  such  jubila- 
tion that  she  talked  with  an  almost  distempered  volu- 
bility. It  had  been  a  coup  de  foudre — and  no  won- 
der! Never  had  the  child's  fluctuating  charm  been 
more  apparent; — those  radiant  eyes,  childish  in  their 
clearness,  their  coldness,  glancing,  resting,  passing, 
seeming  to  look  at  nobody;  while  the  eyes  of  Graf  von 
Liidenstein,  sleepy,  amused,  surprised;  the  eyes  of 
little  Herr  Sachs,  jocular  and  suffering;  the  eyes  of 
Ludwig  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  playing  with  his 
knife  and  fork,  a  muscle  twitching  in  his  lean  cheek — 
all  were  fixed  on  Persis.  Yes ;  it  had  been  a  coup  de 
foudre.  Discipleship !  Signorina  Zardo's  soft,  re- 
verberating old  heart,  filled  like  an  ancient  church, 
with  incense  and  chanting,  cherished  other  hopes. 
Noble,  arrogant,  ignorant  loved  ones!  They  could 
not  know!  But  it  was  as  if,  sharing  the  secret  with 
her,  the  statue  of  the  Madonna  smiled  a  benison. 

They  still  talked  of  Tolstoi.  "  Ludwig  does  not 
care  for  him,"  said  Signorina  Zardo.  "  He  feels  that 
he  is  the  apostle  of  death." 

Herr  Wehlitz  to  this  said  nothing,  and  Signorina 
Zardo  had  not  intended  that  he  should. 

"  A  very  great  artist,"  said  Graf  von  Liidenstein, 
stroking  his  beard,  his  eyes  on  Persis,  who,  helping 
herself  to  a  Sand-torte,  ate  with  the  vague  deliberation 
of  an  uninterested  child. 

"  I  don't  think  Tolstoi  had  much  taste  about 
clothes,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  remarked,  pouring  out  her 
tea.  "  He  did  n't  know  how  to  dress  Anna  Karenine 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

at  all  events.     You  remember,  Eleanora,   the  scene 
where  she  goes  to  the  ball  at  the  beginning." 

The  attention  of  the  party  was  now,  if  only  mo- 
mentarily, directed  upon  the  little  lady. 

"  Did  not  know  how  to  dress  Anna  ?  How  so, 
gnddige  Frau?"  Graf  von  Ludenstein,  adjusting  his 
glasses,  inquired. 

"  I  think  forget-me-nots  don't  go  a  bit  well  with 
black  velvet,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy.  "  And  I  don't  like 
black  velvet  for  a  ball  besides." 

"  I  bow  to  the  taste  of  a  lady;  it  will  be  better  than 
mine  or  Tolstoi's,  that  is  sure,"  said  Ludenstein. 
"  How  would  you  then,  gnddige  Frau,  have  dressed 
Anna?" 

"If  he  felt  it  had  to  be  black,  I  'd  have  made  it 
black  lace,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  replied.  "  And  I  'd  have 
made  her  wear  white  flowers  with  it — white  jasmine 
for  instance;  something  delicate  and  luxuriant  seems 
right  for  Anna." 

"  It  is  well  said ;  well  said.  Delicate  and  luxuriant. 
Yes.  And  Fraulein  Fennamy?  How  would  she 
dress  the  enchanting  Anna?"  Graf  von  Ludenstein 
inquired,  while  Eleanora's  glances  clouded  at  the  triv- 
ial turn  which,  as  usual,  Annetta  had  imparted  to  the 
conversation. 

Persis,  thus  appealed  to,  drew  her  brows  together. 
She  was  not  thinking  of  the  trivial  talk  but  of  Herr 
Wehlitz.  Her  first  impression  had  been  one  of  irony 
and  a  disappointment  curiously  bitter.  She  had 
found  him  insignificant  and  undistinguished.  But,  as 

42 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

she  had  sat  there,  exposed  to  his  brooding  stare,  the 
first  impression  had  altered.  What  strange  eyes: 
pained,  strained,  scorched,  as  it  were,  by  close  gazing 
at  some  burning  object! — She  had  been  more  and 
more  vividly  aware  of  them,  and  their  gaze,  though 
she  had  not  again  encountered  it,  had  rilled  her  with 
a  growing  sense  of  discomfort  and  unpreparedness. 
Fierce  eyes,  resentful  yet  appealing; — and  the  man's 
whole  personality  expressed  the  same  contradiction, — 
violence,  and  a  sensitiveness  that  sought  to  veil  itself 
in  nonchalance.  She  had  been  aware  of  all  this  and 
of  the  muscle  in  his  cheek,  twitching,  as,  involun- 
tarily, he  clenched  and  unclenched  his  jaws,  and  of 
the  fact  that  when,  with  a  sudden  clatter,  he  dropped 
his  knife  to  the  ground,  he  blushed  deeply  as  he 
stooped  to  pick  it  up  and  glanced  angrily  around  the 
circle  as  if  suspicious  of  ridicule.  Yet  not  once  had 
she  looked  at  him  since  that  first  meeting  of  their 
eyes. 

Now,  as  Graf  von  Liidenstein,  leaning  to  her,  thus 
questioned  her,  it  was  with  a  sense  of  effort  and  dis- 
pleasure that  she  turned  her  eyes  on  him.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon?"  she  said.  She  had  not  heard  his 
question.  He  repeated  it  and  Persis  bent  her  brows 
on  him  while  he  spoke  with  a  half  scornful  incredulity. 
"  Her  clothes  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  How  should  I  dress 
her?  Really  I  don't  know.  I  do  not  take  the  least 
interest  in  how  she  dresses.  I  do  not  find  her  en- 
chanting." • 

Graf  von  Liidenstein  opened  more  widely  his  sleepy 

43 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

eyes.  She  spoke  with  the  assurance  and  with  the 
competent  impatience  of  a  formed  and  finished 
woman.  "You  do  not  find  Anna  enchanting?"  he 
said.  "You  do  not  like  her?  Is  it  a  moral  judg- 
ment? Is  it  that  you  do  not  approve  of  an  unfaithful 
wife?  "  Liidenstein,  evidently,  had  been  told  that  the 
young  girl  he  was  to  meet  was  une  tete  forte. 

She  looked  away  from  him  at  the  trees.  "  I  do 
not  like  her  because  she  was  weak.  She  seems  to  me 
a  negligible  person.  Yes;  it  is  a  moral  judgment." 

Turning  in  his  chair  the  German  leaned  his  arm  on 
the  table  the  more  fully  to  consider  her.  "Ah,  but 
it  may  mean  strength,  daring,  courage,  for  a  woman 
to  take  a  lover,"  he  contended,  while  Mrs.  Fennamy, 
eating  her  Sand-torte  with  apparent  placidity,  cast  a 
meditative  glance  upon  her  child. 

Persis  still  looked  at  the  trees.  "  It  did  not  with 
Anna  mean  strength  and  courage,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause  which  expressed,  perhaps,  dislike  for  her  inter- 
locutor rather  than  reluctance  to  pursue  his  theme. 

He  insisted.  "If  it  had,  then,  been  through 
strength,  you  would  have  condoned?  pardoned?  ad- 
mired?" 

"  I  see  nothing  to  admire  in  self-deception  and  self- 
indulgence,"  said  Persis.  "  It  is  because  Tolstoi  does 
not  that  I  care  for  him.  So  many  great  artists  are 
as  deluded  as  their  own  characters  in  regard  to  the 
illusion  and  ugliness  underlying  what  people  call 
love." 

"  But  this  is  indeed  a  severe  judgment  upon  life 

44 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

from  lips  so  young.  You  condemn,  then,  all  pas- 
sion?" 

"  Do  have  some  more  chocolate,  Eleanora,"  said 
Mrs.  Fennamy  in  a  low  voice. 

Persis  had  turned  her  eyes  again  on  Graf  von 
Ludenstein  and  she  continued  to  look  at  him  with  un- 
perturbed directness  while  she  said :  "  It  is  through 
passion  that  life  and  its  sufferings  and  its  evil  is  per- 
petuated. It  is  true  that  Tolstoi  is  the  apostle  of 
death.  That  is  why  he  is  so  great.  He  sees  the 
truth.  As  a  thinker  he  has  not  been  great  enough  to 
follow  his  intuition  to  its  logical  consequences.  He 
is  a  Buddhist  who  tries  to  condone  life.  As  an  artist 
he  has  condemned  it  finally." 

While  Ludenstein  and  the  young  girl  thus  debated 
their  incongruous  theme,  Herr  Wehlitz  had  sat  listen- 
ing,— motionless,  his  eyes  dilated.  Now,  suddenly, 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  leaned  forward  towards 
Persis,  resting  his  finger  tips  upon  the  table.  "  You 
do  not  know  what  you  say ! "  he  exclaimed  in  a  vi- 
brating voice  while  a  tremor  of  intense  feeling  almost 
convulsed  his  face.  "  You  are  a  child  and  do  not 
know  what  you  say!  You  have  read  Schopenhauer, 
nicht  "wahr? — I  ask  you.  You  have  read  Schopen- 
hauer?" He  rapped  violently  with  his  finger-tips 
upon  the  table. 

Persis  bowed  assent.     She  maintained  her  calm. 

"  I  thought  so.  You  have  read  Schopenhauer  and 
believe  that  he  has  said  the  last  word.  No;  listen  to 
me ; " — he  held  up  his  hand  as  she  sought  to  interpose 

45 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

a  qualification.  "You  are  infected.  It  is  enough; 
— listen  to  me  now.  It  is  I  who  have  the  last  word 
to  speak,  a  word  that  upbuilds  more  than  it  destroys. 
Schopenhauer  saw  that  life  is  suffering  and  want  and 
striving.  It  is  true.  I  grant  it.  I  flinch  from  noth- 
ing of  his  truth.  But  what  I  have  to  say  is  that  life 
is  not  valueless  on  that  account.  Cowards  find  it  so, 
and  rot  to  the  nothingness  where  they  belong.  You 
are  not  one  of  them.  You  cannot  look  me  in  the 
eyes  and  say  that  you  are  one  of  them.  No.  Yours 
is  not  the  weakness  that  turns  shuddering  away  from 
life.  Yours  is  the  youth  and  pride  and  strength  that 
measures  itself  against  life  and  scorns  its  puerilities. 
Tolstoi  would  lead  the  world  into  a  nest  of  maggots 
where  the  weak  cling  together  and  find  sustainment 
in  loathsome  unity.  He  cries  out — '  Woe  to  the 
strong.  Let  them  lay  their  strength  aside.  Let  them 
give  themselves  to  be  devoured  by  the  maggots.'  But 
we  strong  ones  turn  from  him  laughing.  He  is  a 
sick  man;  a  man  of  passion  poisoned  by  racial  fear. 
He  is  no  rebel,  though  he  believes  himself  one.  He 
is  no  brave  infidel.  The  exhalation  of  the  churches 
has  breathed  its  ancient  infection  into  him  and  he 
trembles  before  his  own  desires.  He  is  at  heart  a 
coward.  Turn  from  him.  You  are  no  coward.  I 
see  it  in  your  face.  You  are  life;  of  life.  Its  joy 
and  suffering  are  part  of  you.  You  will  not  escape 
them." 

While  he  poured  forth  this  torrent  of  adjuration, 
swiftly,   fiercely,  and  with  indescribable  vehemence, 

46 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Persis,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  demand,  had  risen  to 
her  feet  and,  from  beneath,  the  eyes  of  the  little  circle 
were  raised  to  the  confronted  pair.  Eleanora's  hands 
were  clasped  upon  her  breast.  Mrs.  Fennamy,  steady- 
ing the  table  as  Wehlitz  beat  his  fist  down  upon  it, 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with  a  gaze  of  child- 
li'ke  interest  and  surprise;  Graf  von  Liidenstein 
stroked  his  beard,  smiling  slightly  and  slightly  blink- 
ing behind  his  glasses,  and  little  Herr  Sachs  looked  up 
very  gravely  at  his  blanched  and  shaken  friend. 

"  You  are  right,"  Persis  said  after  a  pause  and 
with  a  quiet  that  contrasted  strangely  with  his  vio- 
lence. "Life  does  not  frighten  me.  And  for  some 
it  may  have  value.  I  hope  to  be  one  of  them.  But  I 
intend  to  take  what  I  will  from  it  and  to  turn  when  I 
will  from  its  bondage.  It  is  this  talk  of  passion  that 
wearies  me." 

Herr  Wehlitz's  chest  had  fallen  from  its  great 
breaths.  He  gazed,  now,  with  half  incredulous  relief 
yet  almost  with  a  sort  of  anger.  "  Ah,"  he  said 
heavily.  "  You  fear  bondage.  You  fear  shackles. 
It  is  well.  You  would  keep  yourself  true  of  aim; 
clear;  undeviating;  dedicated;  as  I.  It  is  well.  Yet 
do  not  fall  into  the  error  of  the  merely  chaste.  The 
flesh  has  its  claim,  if  no  higher  claim  proscribes  it.  I 
speak  to  you  freely.  You  are  a  free  spirit." 

"  Shall  we  walk  a  little?  "  said  Persis.  "  It  will  be 
pleasanter  to  walk  than  to  sit  here."  She  ignored  the 
others.  He  might  have  come  to  speculate  upon  her, 
to  accept  or  reject  her.  It  was  she  who  accepted  him. 

47 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

She  looked  about,  choosing  her  path.  Herr  Wehlitz 
put  back  his  chair.  As  if  automatically  he  joined  her 
and,  opening-  her  parasol,  Persis  walked  away  with 
her  philosopher  beside  her. 

It  was  Signorina  Zardo  who  broke  the  spell  left  by 
their  departure.  She  leaned  forward  to  her  Annetta. 
"  It  is  as  I  have  dreamed.  It  is  as  I  have  prayed," 
she  said  in  a  loud  whisper.  "  They  have  found  each 
other." 

Mrs.  Fennamy  took  up  her  gloves  and  began  to 
draw  them  on.  "  Do  you  suppose  they  '11  expect  us 
to  wait  for  them  here  ?  "  she  asked. 

"They  expect  nothing.  We  do  not  exist  for 
them."  ' 

"  When  shall  we  begin  to  exist  for  them  again,  I 
wonder.  I  suppose  he  '11  bring  her  back  to  the  pen- 
sion in  time  for  dinner  ?  " 

"And  if  not?  if  not,  my  friend?'  Eleanora,  smil- 
ing, still  whispered.  "  We  will  not  intrude  on  sacred 
ground  with  our  small  conventions.  Let  us  return. 
The  gentlemen  will  excuse  us  " ;  she  turned  a  brilliant 
but  by  no  means  cordial  smile  upon  Graf  von  Liiden- 
stein,  her  eye  softening  as  it  rested  on  Herr  Sachs. 

"  I  will  await  the  return  of  our  phcenixes  here, 
mesdames"  said  Liidenstein,  bowing,  smiling  and  tap- 
ping a  book  in  his  coat  pocket.  "  I  have  my  reading 
and  a  pipe.  I  will  tell  them  that  you  have  returned." 

"Well,  I  think  I  would  rather  go  home,"  Mrs. 
Fennamy  conceded.  "  I  've  got  my  bath  to  take  at 
six  o'clock  and  I  '11  be  late  if  we  wait  any  longer. 

48 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

There  does  n't  seem  much  chance  of  their  coming 
back  soon." 

"  None,"  Eleanora  assured  her.  "  None  what- 
ever. They  will  not  be  back  for  hours.  I  know  Lud- 
wig;  when  once  he  talks  it  is  for  hours.  Is  it  not  so, 
Graf  von  Ludenstein?" 

"  It  is  so  indeed,"  said  Ludenstein.  "  The  flights 
of  the  phoenix  are  far  flights." 

"  And  will  you  come  with  us,  Herr  Sachs  ?  "  Elea- 
nora asked. 

But  the  young  man,  thanking  her,  said  that  his 
lodgings  lay  in  another  direction,  and  that  he  must  re- 
turn to  them.  So  the  party  broke  up. 


CHAPTER  V 

MRS.  FENNAMY  and  Eleanora  walked  slowly 
away  together.  The  afternoon  sunlight  was 
shining  down  the  little  street  when  they  left  the  gar- 
dens and  Mrs.  Fennamy  raised  her  sunshade.  Elea- 
nora walked,  gazing  before  her,  rapt,  unaware  of 
physical  conditions.  Presently,  however,  her  friend's 
silence  roused  her  from  her  absorption.  She  turned 
her  eyes  upon  the  neat  profile  of  her  Annetta  and  after 
gazing  at  it,  almost  unseeingly,  for  a  moment,  became 
aware  of  conjecture  and  anxiety.  Mrs.  Fennamy  did 
not  look  in  any  way  displeased.  There  was  no  cold- 
ness apparent  in  her  eye  or  mien ;  yet  Eleanora,  as  she 
looked,  felt  the  check  in  her  gladness.  Imponderable 
creature  as  she  was,  Annetta  might  still  impede,  re- 
tard, embarrass. 

"And  how  does  the  great  Wehlitz  impress  you, 
Annetta  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  Eleanora,  I  don't  think  he  's 
a  bit  distinguished  looking,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy  in  her 
perfectly  unpolemical  and  matter-of-fact  voice. 

Signorina  Zardo's  face  was  not  framed  to  express 
anger.  Deep  sadness  was  its  only  weapon.  "  Not 
distinguished?  Ludwig  Wehlitz  not  distinguished? 
I  do  not  follow  you,  Annetta.  His  is  the  most  rare 

50 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

mind  of  modern  Europe,  the  most  recondite.  The 
time  will  come  when  all  will  know  it." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  sure  his  mind  is  rare  and  recondite  all 
right,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  conceded.  "  Though  it  did 
seem  to  me  rather  silly,  talking  in  that  excited  way 
to  a  young  girl  like  Persis." 

"  A  young  girl  like  Persis !  Is  Persis  then  to  be 
talked  to  like  the  first  come  girl  of  conventions  and 
bondage?  You  will  perhaps  tell  me  next  that  Persis 
is  not  distinguished." 

"  No  I  shan't,  Eleanora,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy  mildly. 
"  You  know  what  I  think  about  Persis.  But  she  's 
too  young  to  be  talked  to  like  that,  about  the  flesh. 
I  wish  people  would  n't  talk  about  the  flesh.  How  old 
isHerr  Wehlitz?" 

Eleanora's  answer  came  after  a  pause  and  in  a 
voice  that  repudiated  her  friend's  folly.  "Forty- 
five." 

"Well,  I  think  that  a  man  of  forty-five  ought  to 
have  more  sense  than  to  take  a  child  of  nineteen  so 
seriously.  He  '11  turn  her  head.  She  is  n't  nearly  as 
wise  and  grown-up  as  she  thinks  she  is." 

"  He  will  fill  her  head.  It  is  a  great,  an  unusually 
great  head,  though  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  it. 
He  does  not  see  Persis  as  a  child  of  nineteen.  You 
have  no  understanding  of  the  mingled  insight  and 
naivete  of  genius.  He  sees  her  only  as  a  soul,  a  proud 
and  potent  soul." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  to  have  souls  sprung  on  me 
so  suddenly  at  a  tea-party ;  that 's  what  it  amounts 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

to,  I  expect.  There 's  not  much  soul  about  Graf 
what  's-his-name,  anyway,  is  there  ?  What  fat  hips 
he  has."  Mrs.  Fennamy  paused  and  put  up  her  lorg- 
nette before  a  shop-window  where  various  gems  of 
local  extraction  were  displayed. 

"We  were  not  speaking  of  Graf  von  Liidenstein. 
I  have  nothing  to  do  with  Graf  von  Liidenstein.  I  do 
not  like  him.  I  do  not  trust  him.  He  is  a  talented, 
a  learned  man,  a  man  who  profoundly  admires  Ludwig; 
that  is  all  I  know  of  him,"  said  Eleanora,  gesticulating 
with  her  hands  and  casting  Graf  von  Liidenstein 
aside. 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  you  don't  stand  up  for  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Fennamy.  "  I  could  n't  bear  him.  Persis  would 
like  to  have  that  big  crystal,  I  expect,"  she  added, 
still  examining  the  contents  of  the  window.  "  She 
said  she  wanted  to  get  a  big  one  to  put  on  that  gold 
chain  of  hers.  I  '11  tell  her  about  it.  What  is  Herr 
Wehlitz's  social  position,  Eleanora  ?  " 

"  His  social  position  ?  What  do  you  mean, 
Annetta?  He  is  of  noble  origin." 

"Is  he?  Who  are  his  relations?"  They  were 
walking  on. 

"  He  descends  on  the  mother's  side  from  an  ancient 
Hungarian  family,  now  extinct,"  said  Eleanora,  but 
darkly,  as  if  in  loathing  for  the  unseemliness  of  their 
talk. 

"  And  who  was  his  father  ?  "  Mrs.  Fennamy  pur- 
sued. 

With  sombre  exactitude  Eleanora  informed  her  of 

52 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Herr  Wehlitz's  simple,  if  dignified  origins,  adding: 
"if  you  wish  to  judge  a  great  genius  by  such  puerili- 
ties." 

"  I  'm  not  judging  him,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy. 
"  I  'm  finding  out  about  him,  that 's  all ;  since  I  sup- 
pose he  '11  try  to  marry  Persis." 

At  this  Eleanora  stopped  in  the  little  street  and 
confronted  her  friend,  and  as  Mrs.  Fennamy  looked 
back  at  her  inquiringly  she  laid,  for  further  emphasis, 
a  hand  upon  her  arm.  "  Annetta,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  Let  me  conjure  you ;  do  not  speak  or  think 
of  it.  Let  no  breath  of  ours  touch  the  sacred  possi- 
bility. They  are  unaware.  They  could  not  dream  of 
it.  If  we  make  them  aware  it  may  part  them." 

"  Goodness  me,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  smiled.  "  They 
must  be  a  delicate  couple." 

"  They  are,  Annetta ;  they  are ;  try  to  remember 
it." 

They  walked  on  and  entered  now  the  smaller  street, 
shaded  by  plane-trees,  where  the  Pension  Miiller  stood. 

"And  suppose,  just  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that 
I  wanted  to  part  them,  Eleanora,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  re- 
marked. "  Suppose  I  did  n't  like  the  sacred  possi- 
bility for  Persis.  After  all  I  'm  her  mother,  and  after 
all,  mothers  do  have  their  feelings.  I  'd  never  inter- 
fere with  Persis,  as  you  know,  not  even  if  she  decided 
to  marry  a  Chinese  sage  with  a  wart  on  his  forehead. 
But  I  'd  dislike  a  Chinese  sage  just  as  much  as  any 
mother  would." 

"  Well  ? "  Eleanora  in  a  muted  voice  inquired. 

53 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Well  ?  And  in  that  case  what  would  you  do  ?  If 
you  did  wish  to  part  them  ?  " 

"  I  should  n't  do  anything.  I  *d  only  wish.  All 
I  'm  saying  is  that  I  have  a  perfect  right  to  wish." 

"  You  dislike  it,  then  ?    You  do  not  like  Ludwig  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  I  dislike  him.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  him  except  that  he  has  n't  got  any  social  position 
and  seems  very  excitable.  Perhaps  I  '11  get  to  like 
him  better;  but  I  don't  see  why  you  should  expect 
me  to  be  on  his  side." 

They  had  reached  the  pension  gates  and  Mrs.  Fen- 
namy  put  down  her  parasol  and  entered.  Then,  turn- 
ing, she  found  Eleanora's  eyes  fixed  on  her  in  an  al- 
most tragic  supplication,  her  hands,  in  the  fashion 
habitual  with  her  in  moments  of  great  emotion,  clasped 
together  on  her  breast. 

"Annetta,"  she  said,  "in  God's  name — I  conjure 
you — do  not  take  sides  against  him." 

Mrs.  Fennamy  looked  at  her,  arrested. 

"  He  breaks  my  heart,  Annetta,"  Eleanora  con- 
tinued. "  He  breaks  my  heart ;  his  despair ;  his  lone- 
liness. You  do  not  understand " 

"  But  he  has  lots  of  good  friends,  it  seems  to  me, 
Eleanora  dear,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  murmured. 

Eleanora  shook  her  head.  "  Friends.  Do  you 
count  little  Sachs,  the  faithful  dog,  with  its  loving, 
watchful  eye,  its  tricks  and  wagging  tail,  a  companion 
for  a  soul  such  as  Ludwig's?  And  me!  What  can 
I  do  for  him,  a  scatter-brained,  sentimental  old  woman  ? 
I  can  give  him  nothing;  I  can  only  yearn  and  pray. 

54 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

And  for  Graf  von  Ltidenstein  he  has  no  real  liking. 
Ludwig  is  alone;  alone  in  darkness  and  in  despair." 

"  It  does  n't  sound  very  cheerful,  it  would  n't  mean 
a  very  cheerful  sort  of  marriage,  would  it,"  Mrs. 
Fennamy  again  murmured,  but  Eleanora,  with  pas- 
sionate energy  returned.  "  He  is  a  great  man ;  it 
would  be  a  great  life  they  would  lead  together.  The 
darkness  would  go  if  she  came.  It  is  all  he  needs; 
sunlight.  She  is  the  sunrise.  Let  her  shine  on  him, 
Annetta ;  it  is  all  I  ask  of  you ;  let  her  shine  on  him." 

Mrs.  Fennamy,  touched,  it  was  evident,  but,  it  was 
also  evident,  not  convinced,  began  to  ascend  the  pen- 
sion steps.  "Of  course  she  shall  shine  on  him  all 
she  wants  to,"  she  said. 

Eleanora  had  not  followed  her,  but  stood,  her  hands 
still  on  her  breast,  looking  up  at  her  from  below. 

"  And  I  hope  she  '11  cheer  him  up,  I  'm  sure,"  Mrs. 
Fennamy  continued.  "  But  all  the  same  I  can't 
promise  to  want  them  to  get  married."  She  pressed 
her  thumb  on  the  bell. 

"  Do  not  take  sides  against  him,"  Eleanora  repeated, 
now  in  a  loud  whisper.  "  You  have  weight  with  the 
child.  Yes;  yes,  Annetta;  though  you  do  not  know 
it;  though  she  does  not  know  it;  you  have  weight. 
Do  not  turn  her  against  him.  Let  him  have  his 
chance ! " 

Mrs.  Fennamy  looked  down  at  her.  "  I  won't  in- 
terfere," she  said.  "  I  don't  believe  I  could  if  I 
wanted  to,  anyway,  and  I  Ve  never  interfered  with 
Persis.  I  won't  take  any  sides,  for  or  against;  so 

55 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

there  's  no  reason  why  he  should  n't  have  his  chance. 
All  I  mean,  Eleanora,"  the  door  had  now  opened  and 
she  prepared  to  enter,  "  all  I  mean  is  that  you  must  n't 
expect  me  to  do  anything  to  help  him." 

•  ••*•»•• 

It  was  a  quarter  past  seven  when  Mrs.  Fennamy 
heard  the  step  of  her  child  upon  the  stair.  She  her- 
self had  steeped  for  half  an  hour  in  her  bath  of  aro- 
matic mud  and  now,  dressed  for  the  pension  table 
d'hote,  she  sat  before  her  toilet-table  and  looked  out  at 
the  sunset  while  she  polished  her  nails.  She  won- 
dered, as  she  heard  the  girl's  step  pause,  whether  some 
unaccustomed  sense  of  shyness  would  prevent  Persis 
from  coming  in  to  her.  That  Persis  always  kept  her 
informed  of  the  outward  facts,  at  least,  in  regard  to 
all  that  happened  to  her,  was  not,  her  mother  knew, 
through  communicativeness  or  the  need  to  confide; 
it  was  rather,  perhaps,  because  outward  facts  meant  so 
little  to  her  that  she  was  willing  always  to  impart 
them;  but  Mrs.  Fennamy  would  have  felt  anxiety  if 
Persis  had  ceased  to  come  to  her  with  her  daily  re- 
cital. And  it  was  relief  she  felt  now,  when,  after  the 
slight  pause,  the  door  opened  and  she  appeared  be- 
fore her. 

Persis  was  not  feeling  any  shyness;  that  was  evi- 
dent. She  was  pale,  as  always,  and  with  shining  eyes, 
and  it  was,  her  mother  saw,  in  a  deep  absorption  and 
triumph  that  she  stood  there.  "  She  thinks  herself 
a  great  woman,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  reflected,  "because 
he 's  a  great  man,  and  he 's  taken  her  so  seriously." 

56 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Well,"  she  asked,  "  did  you  have  a  nice  time  with" 
Herr  Wehlitz  ? "  and  she  added,  "  Dinner  will  be 
ready  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  You  won't  have  time 
to  dress,  I  expect." 

"  No,  I  won't  dress,"  said  Persis,  sitting  down  on  a 
little  chair  that  stood  against  the  wall.  "  Yes ;  it  was 
a  wonderful  walk.  He  is  a  wonderful  man." 

"  I  expect  he  is,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  assented,  pausing 
in  her  placid  occupation  to  turn  her  nails  to  the  light. 
"  I  never  saw  such  eyes.  They  remind  me  of  poor 
little  Ally  Robinson's  when  I  was  a  girl.  Do  you 
remember  old  Dr.  Robinson,  Persis  ?  He  was  so  fond 
of  you  and  always  brought  you  a  little  bag  of  marsh- 
mallows  when  he  came  to  the  house.  Dear  me,  it 's 
years  and  years  since  I  tasted  a  marsh-mallow.  Ally 
was  a  very  bright  child.  He  died  when  he  was  only 
nine,  of  meningitis.  They  thought  his  brain  was  too 
active." 

Persis  gave  little  heed  to  these  reminiscences.  "  I 
remember,"  she  murmured  vaguely,  "  they  were 
floury,  snowy  sweets,  like  pierrots.  I  really  had  not 
understood  Herr  Wehlitz's  books,  I  find,  though  he 
says  I  have,  more  than  anyone  else  he  has  met.  His 
thought  is  like  the  waving  of  a  torch,  and  it  dazzles 
one  sometimes  and  makes  one  dizzy.  He  is  going 
to  teach  me  and  I  am  to  help  him  with  his  work." 
Persis,  unpinning  her  hat,  laid  it  on  her  knees  and 
leaned  her  head  back  against  the  wall.  "  He  is  com- 
ing to-morrow,  and  we  '11  sit  in  the  garden  if  it 's 
fine." 

57. 


"  You  can  sit  in  the  parlour,  if  you  like,"  said  Mrs. 
Fennamy.  "  I  can  read  up  here  just  as  well." 

"  Thank  you,  mamma,  but  if  it 's  fine  I  think  it  will 
be  pleasanter  in  the  garden.  Graf  von  Liidenstein  is 
coming,  too.  He  is,  Herr  Wehlitz  says,  the  only  one 
he  has  left  who  will  listen  to  him.  The  others,  when 
they  have  listened,  have  shrieked  and  stopped  their  ears 
and  run  away." 

It  was  evident  to  Mrs.  Fennamy  that  Persis  was 
not  addressing  her  so  much  as  communing  with  her- 
self, and  at  the  same  time  she  was  aware  that  a  dim, 
unconscious  impulse  in  her  child  led  her  thus  to  ex- 
plain and  forestall,  perhaps,  even,  to  exculpate. 

"  What  does  he  say  that  upsets  them  so  ?  "  she  in- 
quired, dipping  the  point  of  her  chamois  polisher  into 
the  box  of  nail-powder  and  passing  to  the  nails  of  the 
other  hand.  And  after  a  pause  Persis  informed  her. 

"He  overturns  all  the  beliefs  they  live  by.  He 
shows  them  that  what  they  believe  to  be  their  goodness 
is  only  their  weakness.  He  shows  them  that  sub- 
mission is  incapacity  and  that  pity  is  an  infection. 
He  thinks  that  pity  is  the  disease  of  the  modern  world 
and  that  it  may  destroy  us." 

"  I  don't  seem  to  see  much  of  it  about,  somehow," 
Mrs.  Fennamy  commented. 

"  Oh  yes,  mamma,  you  do ;  the  philanthropies  that 
enable  unfit  people  to  survive  and  the  benevolent  poli- 
tics that  put  power  into  their  hands.  The  whole 
democratic  movement  is  founded  on  pity,  on  the  con- 
ception that  the  weak,  the  valueless,  must  be  armed 

58 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

artificially  against  the  strong;  and,  since  they  are  the 
more  numerous,  they  may  become  a  menace  to  the 
strong,  if  they  are  armed." 

"  I  should  have  thought  the  idea  was  to  get  every- 
body to  be  as  strong  as  they  could,"  Mrs.  Fennamy 
objected.  "  It  must  be  pretty  bad  to  be  ground  down 
just  because  you  haven't  any  weapon.  The  strong 
people  have  got  the  strength  and  the  weapons  too." 

"But  there  is  the  modern  fallacy;  you  don't  make 
people  strong.  Heredity  proves  that  the  inferior  re- 
main inferior,  however  much  you  may  arm  them." 

"  Well,  now,  just  look  at  old  Jesse  Keene,  in  Ashley- 
ville,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  urged.  "Of  course  you 
wouldn't  remember  him,  but  before  the  war  he  was 
just  a  lazy  old  negro  who  used  to  potter  about  and  do 
odd  jobs  for  people;  he  used  to  come  and  help  in 
Grandma's  garden,  I  remember,  when  the  gardener 
needed  extra  help;  just  a  black  old  negro.  And  now 
his  grandchildren  are  as  respectable  and  successful  as 
can  be  and  one  of  them 's  a  lawyer.  What 's  that  but 
an  inferior  getting  made  over  into  something  better  ?  " 

"  Your  old  negro  had  married  a  mulatto  or  qua- 
droon, I  suppose,"  said  Persis  smiling.  "And  his 
children  had  again  mixed  with  a  better  blood.  If  a 
type  tended  to  rise  that  would  show,  of  course,  that 
it  had  been  artificially  kept  down.  No  one  would 
deny  that  a  good  many  valuable  types  are  artificially 
kept  down." 

"  Oh  yes,  they  all  married  whiter  people  than  them- 
selves," Mrs.  Fennamy  assented.  "  They  're  just 

59 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

cafe-au-lait  colour  now.  All  the  same,  I  should  think 
that  it  was  about  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  not  to 
have  any  pity." 

"  You  must  talk  to  Herr  Wehlitz,"  said  Persis. 
"  He  thinks  it  is  the  most  difficult  thing ;  the  thing 
that  it  costs  us  the  most  to  do — to  be  pitiless."  She 
stretched  back  in  her  chair,  reaching  up  her  arms,  and 
rose,  saying  that  she  must  go  and  smooth  her  hair, 
and  pausing  to  look  for  a  moment  from  her  mother's 
window.  The  evening  sun  struck  on  the  poplars,  and 
glittering  against  the  blue  sky  they  made  her  think 
of  splendid  imperious  swords  pointing  up  and  chal- 
lenging the  heavens.  "  It 's  curious  to  think  that  any- 
thing interesting  should  happen  in  Tannenkreuz,"  she 
said. 


CHAPTER  VI 

NEXT  morning  Mrs.  Fennamy  went  down  to  the 
salon  to  glance  over  the  Gaglignani  Messenger 
some  half  hour  after  Persis  had  led  Herr  Wehlitz 
and  his  friends  into  the  garden.  Four  or  five  pension 
inmates  were  gathered  there  like  decrepit  flies  lured 
to  warm  window-panes;  capped  and  brooched  Lady 
Frere,  a  massive  German  lady  trussed  in  rigid  stays, 
a  grievous,  gouty  old  English  major  and  a  woman  of 
some  fashion  from  New  York;  and  Mrs.  Fennamy 
saw,  as  she  entered,  that,  with  the  exception  of  the 
major,  who,  having  secured  the  Gaglignani  Messenger 
had  withdrawn  with  it  into  a  corner,  they  were  all 
engaged  in  examining  the  group  seated  in  the  garden 
under  the  apple-trees. 

Persis,  so  unaware  of  her  fellow-guests,  had  been 
the  object,  since  her  arrival,  of  their  somewhat  hostile 
attention.  Mrs.  Fennamy  was  already  popular.  She 
returned  now  the  greetings  given  her  and  moved  to  the 
window  to  look  out  also. 

Her  daughter  and  the  three  men  were  gathered  at 
some  little  distance  round  one  of  the  tin  tables,  on 
which  books  had  been  piled;  but  they  were  not  far 
enough  to  prevent  Herr  Wehlitz's  voice,  pitched  in 
tones  of  almost  ecstatic  vehemence,  from  reaching  the 

61 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

occupants  of  the  salon.  Persis,  in  her  dress  of  flow- 
ing white,  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  her  arms  lightly 
folded  across  her  breast,  her  head  bent  in  the  attitude 
of  concentration  habitual  to  her,  her  eyes  on  Herr 
Wehlitz.  Graf  von  Liidenstein's  eyes  were  on  her, 
though  they  were  shaded  by  his  hand  as  he  sat  half 
turned  in  his  chair,  resting  his  elbow  on  the  back ;  and, 
slightly  removed  from  the  group,  Herr  Sachs  poked 
his  crutch  here  and  there  into  the  deep  untidy  grass. 
They  looked,  the  men's  black  coats,  the  girl's  white 
dress,  dappled  with  sunlight,  the  tones,  swarthy  or 
florid  or  pearly,  of  the  faces,  like  a  plein  air  by  Manet, 
though  the  picture  recalled  to  Mrs.  Fennamy  was  that 
of  a  St.  Catherine  of  Alexandria  among  the  doctors. 
Persis  was  as  composed  and  as  assured  as  that 
scholarly  virgin. 

"  Miss  Fennamy  seems  to  have  a  great  many 
tutors/'  Lady  Frere  observed,  turning  the  stocking  she 
was  engaged  in  knitting  and  keeping,  over  her  spec- 
tacles, a  watchful  eye  upon  the  incongruous  gather- 
ing. "What  is  she  studying,  pray?" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  'd  call  it  philosophy,"  said 
Mrs.  Fennamy.  "  Herr  Wehlitz  is  a  great  philoso- 
pher and  he  is  going  to  teach  her." 

The  plethoric  German  lady  laid  down  her  novel. 
"  Herr  Wehlitz !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Is  it  Ludwig 
Wehlitz?  Herr  Gott!  gnadige  Frew,  but  do  you 
know  who  it  is  then  who  teaches  your  daughter?  He 
is  an  abominable  man !  a  demoniacal  man ! "  With 
astonishment  and  consternation  she  stared  out 

62 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

at    the    students.     "Das   ist   schrecklich!"    she    ex- 
claimed. 

Mrs.  Fennamy  did  not  show  perturbation,  but  she 
felt  it. 

"  Why  what  do  you  know  about  him,  Frau  Topler?  " 
she  inquired.  "  He  was  introduced  to  us  by  a  very 
old  friend  of  ours,  one  of  the  very  best  women  in  the 
world,  and  though  I  know  he  has  queer  ideas,  most 
philosophers  have,  I  expect,  and  it  does  n't  seem  to  do 
them  any  harm." 

The  German  lady  continued  to  stare,  shaking  her 
head  slowly  the  while.  "  I  have  not  read  his  books," 
she  said.  "  I  do  not  read  such  books.  My  husband 
would  not  permit  it.  But  I  have  been  told  that  they 
are  abominations." 

"  Hey  ?  What 's  this  ?  Who  is  the  demoniacal 
gentleman?  What?"  the  major  questioned,  rising 
with  a  suppressed  ejaculation  of  pain,  for  he  was 
crippled  with  gout,  and  moving  to  the  window,  while 
the  lady  from  New  York  swooped  down  upon  the 
Gaglignani  Messenger  which,  inadvertently,  he  had 
left  upon  his  chair.  "  Who  is  it?  "  he  inquired,  join- 
ing Mrs.  Fennamy  at  the  window.  He  liked  Mrs. 
Fennamy,  who  was  always  reassuring  when  he  in- 
sisted that  the  baths  were  killing  him.  "  Musician  ? 
hey?"  he  asked,  as  she  indicated  the  object  of  the 
discussion  to  him.  "Writer?  What?  Looks  a  bit 
of  a  bounder,  but  I  don't  see  any  harm  in  the  fellow. 
Teaching  Miss  Fennamy  is  he?  What  did  you  say 
he  was  teaching  her  ?  " 

63 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Philosophy,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy.  "  He 's  not  a 
bad  man.  He  has  queer  ideas  and  thinks  we  're  all 
wrong.  But  he  would  n't  hurt  a  fly." 

"  Philosophy  ?  Well,  you  can  tell  her  from  me," 
said  the  major,  "  that  there 's  nothing  in  it  Ab- 
solutely nothing.  You  get  no  further  than  you  were 
when  you  began.  I  tried  to  read  Herbert  Spencer 
once,  when  I  was  in  India,  and  upon  my  word  it  gave 
me  indigestion.  I  don't  see  the  good  of  that  sort  of 
thing.  Who  is  the  other  gentleman  who  admires  Miss 
Fennamy  so  much  ?  " 

"  That 's  Graf  von  Liidenstein,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy 
somewhat  sadly;  Lady  Frere  had  ceased  to  knit  and 
kept  severe  eyes  upon  the  negligent  mother.  "  He  's 
a  philosopher,  too,  I  believe,  or  he 's  interested  in 
philosophy,  or  something." 

"  He  is  interested  in  pretty  young  ladies ;  and  in 
that  he  shows  his  good  sense,"  the  major  observed, 
making  his  way  back  to  his  Messenger  and  stopping 
half-way,  arrested  by  the  sight  of  the  New  York  lady, 
immersed,  with  elaborate  unconsciousness,  in  her  ill- 
gotten  gains. 

Mrs.  Fennamy  had  also  turned  from  the  window. 
"  I  '11  bring  you  a  paper,"  she  said,  touched  by  his 
dismay.  She  left  the  salon  and  found  herself  con- 
fronted, in  the  passage,  by  Eleanora. 

"Just  wait  a  minute,  Eleanora,"  she  said,  pushing 
her  friend  gently  along  in  front  of  her  and  into  her 
little  sitting-room.  "  You  're  the  very  person  I  want  to 
see."  She  took  the  paper  to  the  major  and  then,  re- 

64 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

turning  and  seating  herself  upon  the  sofa,  she  mo- 
tioned Eleanora  beside  her  and  said :  "  Well,  they  're 
all  talking  about  him  and  are  as  shocked  as  can  be  by 
Persis  knowing  him.  I  'm  afraid  he  has  a  very  bad 
reputation,  Eleanora." 

"  Reputation !  Ludwig's  reputation !  You  speak 
of  Ludwig?"  Signorina  Zardo,  as  Mrs.  Fennamy 
nodded,  threw  up  her  hands  and  eyes  and  ejaculated 
in  the  German  which  she  could  use  racily  at  times: 
"SchafsKotfel" 

"  Well,  but  we  Ve  got  to  live  among  the  sheep,  if  it 
comes  to  that,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  returned.  "  And  I 
don't  like  even  sheep  to  be  able  to  say  that  a  demonia- 
cal man  is  making  love  to  Persis." 

"  And  what  would  they  say,  Annetta,  if  Shelley, 
or  Goethe,  or  Leopardi  were  making  love  to  your  child  ? 
Were  they  not,  all  of  them,  by  the  sheep,  thought  to  be 
demoniacal?  What  else  can  sheep  think  of  a  sublime 
genius,  with  his  world-shaking,  world-renewing 
thought!  Have  you  not  only  to  look  in  the  face  of 
Ludwig  and  see  the  soul  shining  there — the  noble 
soul — as  trusting  and  as  tender  as  a  child's  ?  " 

"  He  looks  very  much  like  little  Ally  Robinson," 
Mrs.  Fennamy  mused,  adding  with  an  apparent  irrele- 
vance, inf'litely  relieving  to  Signorina  Zardo ;  "  Any- 
way, Graf  von  Liidenstein  has  n't  got  a  tender,  trust- 
ing soul  and  I  don't  like  the  way  he  looks  at  Persis 
a  bit." 

"  Ah ;  there ;  there  I  grant  you.  That  is  another 
matter !  "  Eleanora  exclaimed.  "  There  I  am  with  the 

65 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

sheep!  You  know  that  he  is  a  married  man, 
Annetta?" 

"Why  no!  is  he?" 

"  He  is,  indeed.  And  from  all  I  hear  his  wife  is 
not  to  be  envied." 

"You  mean  he's  a  bad  man,  Eleanora?"  Mrs. 
Fennamy's  inflection  was  the  inflection  of  Ashley- 
ville. 

"  I  mean  that  he  is  a  dissipated  man ;  a  man  of  lax 
morals.  Yes;  most  certainly."  And  Eleanora 
pressed  her  advantage.  "  Of  Ludwig's  life  there  has 
never  been  a  whisper.  I  defy  the  assembled  sheep 
to  deny  that  Ludwig's  life  has  been  a  spotless  one. 
It  is  that  Gargantuan  female,  that  Berlin  merchant's 
wife  whose  judgment  has  troubled  you,  I  will  warrant. 
And  all  that  I  ask  of  you  is :  What  would  the  verdict 
of  such  a  woman  be  on  Shelley?" 

Mrs.  Fennamy  mused.  "  I  'd  be  very  sorry  if  Per- 
sis  were  to  marry  anyone  like  Shelley,"  she  said,  and 
then  she  added,  rising,  "  Let 's  go  and  sit  in  the  gar- 
den with  them,  Eleanora.  I  'd  like  Graf  von  Luden- 
stein  to  think  that  Persis  is  a  chaperoned  girl,  even  if 
she  isn't." 

"Let  us  go.  By  all  means  let  us  go."  Eleanora 
with  full  approbation  assented.  "  But  you  will  not 
give  an  observer  as  keen  as  Graf  von  Liidenstein  the 
impression  that  Persis  is  a  conventionally  sheltered 
girl;  he  will  have  seen  from  yesterday  that  she  is 
not." 

Eleanora  bowed  with  ceremony  to  the  occupants  of 

66 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

the  salon  as  they  passed  through  it,  turning  as  they 
stepped  from  the  window  near  the  German  lady's 
chair  to  link  her  arm  in  Mrs.  Fennamy's  and  say, 
pointing  out  the  group  below:  "Do  they  not  look 
charming,  mia  cara?" 

Outside  the  window  a  flight  of  cracked  concrete 
steps  led  to  the  garden.  Surrounded  by  its  high  walls 
it  was  very  warm  to-day  and  redolent  of  autumnal 
fragrance;  the  smell  of  the  deep  grass,  of  the  apples 
reddening  on  the  branches.  Distant  wafts  from  the 
pine-woods  reached  it  and  from  the  russet  vineyards, 
and  even  the  sun-baked  walls  of  the  pension,  its  white 
stucco  flaked  and  peeling,  its  green  shutters  faded  to 
the  blue  of  a  spoiled  turquoise,  gave  forth  an  exhala- 
tion as  of  musty  spices. 

The  three  men  rose  to  their  feet  as  Mrs.  Fennamy 
and  Signorina  Zardo  approached  and  saluted  them. 
Persis  looked  up  at  them  vaguely. 

"  Well,  Persis,  are  you  learning  a  great  deal  ? " 
Mrs.  Fennamy  asked,  pausing  beside  her  daughter's 
chair  and  casting  a  look  at  the  books  piled  upon  the 
table.  None  had  yet  been  opened.  Herr  Wehlitz's 
monologue  had  occupied  them  till  now. 

"  Unlearning  a  great  deal,  rather,  I  think,"  said 
Persis. 

"  I  should  n't  have  thought  you  could  do  that," 
said  Mrs.  Fennamy.  "  It 's  not  as  if  you  'd  ever  be- 
lieved in  anything  much." 

Wehlitz's  eyes,  meanwhile,  almost  as  if  he  saw  her 
for  the  first  time  and  recognised  her  as  a  possible  fac- 

67 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

tor  in  his  relations  with  the  young  American  girl,  ex- 
amined the  little  lady.  She  wore  a  thin  black  dress, 
of  summer  coolness,  small  turquoises  shook  at  each 
ear-tip  and  she  carried  her  work-box  and  sewing. 
Herr  Wehlitz,  it  was  evident,  found  pleasure  in  her 
appearance,  "You  are  not  opposed,  madame,  to  this 
quest  upon  which  your  daughter  has  embarked  ? " 
He  could  speak  and  smile  with  the  greatest  gentleness 
and  a  courtly  chivalry  of  manner  mingled,  as  he  ad- 
dressed her,  with  a  hint  of  playfulness.  There  was 
indeed  something  very  child-like  in  Mrs.  Fennamy's 
elegant  little  personality.  Herr  Wehlitz,  evidently, 
thought  of  her  as  child-like — as  soon  imagine  a  small 
blue  butterfly  an  envoy  of  destiny. 

She  smiled  back  at  him.  "  Dear  me,  no,"  she  said. 
"  Persis  embarks  on  anything  she  likes.  I  thought, 
•when  she  was  sixteen,  she  was  going  to  join  the  Ni- 
hilists ;  we  'd  been  seeing  a  good  many  Russian  exiles  in 
Rome  that  winter.  I  don't  suppose  your  philosophy 
is  as  dangerous  as  Nihilism." 

"  I  fear  the  risks  of  Nihilism  are  child's  play  com- 
pared to  my  Alpine  climbing,  madame,"  Wehlitz  re- 
plied. 

"  So  long  as  it 's  only  philosophy  I  don't  care  how 
far  she  climbs,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  returned. 

Still  with  his  touch  of  playfulness,  Wehlitz  bent  his 
eyes  upon  Persis.  "  And  you  wished,  then,  to  be  a 
Nihilist? — To  pull  down  the  strong? — To  exalt  the 
weak  ? — And  by  violence  ? — Is  it  possible  ?  " 

"Yes;  it  was  so;  for  a  little  while,"  said  Persis. 

68 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Her  eyes  were  not  on  him  but  on  the  lombardy-poplars 
which,  beyond  the  apple-trees,  rose  above  his  head. 
"  When  I  saw  how  foolish  they  were,  the  people  them- 
selves— not,  necessarily,  their  ideas, — I  gave  it  up. 
I  was  only  a  child.  No;  I  never  wanted  to  exalt  the 
weak  and  pull  down  the  strong.  I  wanted  to  pull 
down  the  mean  and  cruel  and  crafty." 

"  Ah — craft — cruelty — meanness — you  will  find  them 
always  among  the  weak — among  your  former  friends, 
for  instance,"  said  Wehlitz.  "  The  strong  do  not  need 
them.  Or,  if  they  must  use  cruelty,  much  less. 
Russia  will  not  be  corrupted  so  long  as  she  maintains 
her  despotism.  It  is  we  who  are  in  danger,  with  our 
life-destroying,  so-called  humanitarian,  creeds  that  in- 
fect the  strong  with  pity  for  the  weak.  I  spoke  to 
you  of  this  yesterday.  Do  not  misunderstand  me.  I 
have  no  hatred  for  the  servile  classes  when,  in  their 
proper  place,  they  serve  the  purposes  of  those  above 
them.  But  in  our  days  of  hideous  democracy  the 
plebeians,  ceasing  to  fulfil  their  only  function,  swarm 
into  our  palaces  like  vermin  and  devour  all  that  is 
beautiful  and  rare.  My  gorge  rises  at  that!  Moist, 
dank  parasites,  clinging  together,  mounting  in  their 
shoals  of  heaped  up  paltriness: — pfui!  the  tepid  stench 
of  them  is  in  my  nostrils !  I  see  the  glint  of  their  ma- 
licious, shifty  eyes.  Beat  them  back! — with  the  flat 
of  the  sword! — you  will  not  need  to  use  the  point; 
beat  them  back;  it  is  the  only  way.  Crush  them  into 
their  dens  again  and  give  them  again  their  tasks  to 
do ! "  He  had  spoken  with  a  rising  excitement,  em- 

69 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

phasizing  his  words  by  blows  from  his  fist  upon  the 
books  piled  before  him ;  but  now,  raising  his  eyes  again 
to  Mrs.  Fennamy  and  finding  that  she  stood  con- 
templating him  as  a  child  might  contemplate  the  in- 
teresting antics  of  a  strange  animal  in  its  cage,  his 
voice  fell,  he  smiled  again,  nervously,  and  said,  turn- 
ing to  Liidenstein,  "  You  feel  no  extravagance  in  my 
words,  Ernst?" 

Graf  von  Liidenstein,  leaning  on  the  back  of  his 
chair,  had  been  listening  with  a  smile.  "  None ;  none, 
my  dear  Ludwig,"  he  replied.  "  I  agree  with  you  to 
the  full  in  seeing  that  nature  is  relentless  and  that 
those  who  fall  away  from  her  precepts  are  preparing 
themselves  for  extinction.  At  the  same  time  I  do  not 
altogether  share  your  fears  for  the  strong.  They  will 
always,  I  imagine,  contrive  to  surmount  the  weak. 
It  may  be,  in  the  future,  by  outwitting  them.  One 
cannot  tell." 

"  Ah ;  but  there  you  are  wrong ;  there  you  make 
your  mistake  of  over-confidence! — They  are  simple, 
the  strong; — simple!"  Ludwig  cried.  "Wits  are  the 
ugly  mandibles  of  the  vermin,  sharpened  by  neces- 
sity. No!  no!  no! — it  is  by  force,  proud,  relentless, 
smiling  force  alone,  that  the  strong  survive.  We  have 
talked  of  this." 

"  Let  us  sit  here,  Annetta,  under  this  tree,"  Eleanora 
said,  moving  away  to  an  adjoining  table  with  sadness. 
"  We  can  listen  to  the  interesting  discussion  or  talk 
together,  as  we  choose." 

Mrs.  Fennamy  followed  her,  laying  her  work-box 

70 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

on  the  table.  She  remarked  in  a  low  voice,  as  she 
seated  herself  and  unfolded  her  work :  "  Does  he 
think  we  are  vermin,  I  wonder  ?  I  'm  sure  I  don't 
feel  very  proud  or  relentless." 

"  He  speaks  with  extravagance,  Annetta,  and  with 
his  own  use  of  violent  metaphor.  It  is  the  rare,  the 
precious,  the  beautiful  things,  the  things  that  make 
life  of  value  to  both  high  and  low  that  he  sees  menaced 
and  would  preserve.  As  to  him — I  know  no  heart 
fuller  of  pity,  of  tenderness  and  pity,  than  Ludwig's." 
Eleanora  spoke  with  a  note  of  pleading.  She  feared 
Annetta,  feared  her  understandings  of  Ludwig  as  well 
as  her  misunderstandings  of  him.  It  was  difficult  to 
interpret  a  titan  to  a  butterfly. 

"  My,  yes ;  anyone  can  see  that  he  would  n't  hurt  a 
fly."  Mrs.  Fennamy  repeated  her  fundamental  as- 
surance. "  Only  it  must  be  very  bad  for  him,  getting 
so  excited." 

The  group  at  the  other  table  had  now  resumed  their 
seats  and  Wehlitz,  passing  his  hand  over  his  forehead 
was  saying:  "Back  to  Schopenhauer,  then,  and  let 
us  forget,  for  the  moment,  the  weak  and  their  menace. 
As  I  was  saying  to  you,  Fraulein,  you  do  not  contra- 
dict a  great  thinker,  you  complete  him.  Schopenhauer 
is  valuable  for  his  half  truth.  Facing  the  illusions  of 
goodness,  of  freedom,  of  the  self,  he  would  lead  us  to 
despair  of  life  and  to  resignation.  It  is  there  that  I 
come  to  you.  It  is  there  that  I  complete  our  acrid, 
flaccid  pessimist.  Face  illusion ;  yes ;  but  face  despair 
as  well.  Seize  it;  master  it;  and  tragic  joy  is  its 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

flower.  Despair  sinks  to  death  and  nothingness; 
tragedy  accepted  is  life  at  its  highest.  I  teach,  not 
resignation,  but  serenity;  not  the  peace  that  will  only 
look  at  the  flat,  safe  path  beneath  its  feet!  no!  a 
serenity  sublime  and  terrible.  It  can  smile  in  its 
strength  at  its  own  and  at  others'  pain,  at  its  own  and 
at  others'  anguish;  it  has  risen  above  pity  and  hor- 
ror and  fear;  it  rejoices  in  them  as  an  athlete  in  his 
opponent's  strength;  as  a  swimmer  in  the  buffets  and 
abysses  of  the  sea." 

His  gaze,  half  hypnotised,  almost  hypnotic,  was 
again  on  Persis.  She  said :  "  I  have  felt  that." 

"  You  do  not  need  to  tell  me  so,"  said  Wehlitz. 
"  I  have  seen  it  in  your  face." 

"  But,"  after  another  moment,  Persis  went  on,  "  I 
must  think.  I  must  think  a  great  deal,  and  study. 
I  do  not  really  understand  you  yet; — not  all  you 
say." 

"  And  I  do  not  ask,  I  do  not  expect,  any  blind  ad- 
herence. Yes.  We  are  to  study,  you  and  I.  And, 
together,  we  will  discuss  our  studies,  you  and  I,  and 
Liidenstein."  His  eyes  turned  from  the  last-named 
friend  to  Herr  Sachs,  who  still  sat  a  little  withdrawn 
from  them.  "  And  you,  Conrad,  shall  come  too,  to 
our  discussions,  gall  and  wormwood  though  my  doc- 
trine should  be  to  you,  if  you  were  honest  with  your- 
self. You  can  come  as  the  benitier  to  the  devil!  ha! 
ha!  He  is  a  believer,  our  friend  Conrad,  Fraulein. 
He  believes  in  God,  in  freedom,  in  the  immortal  soul, 
do  you  not,  Conrad  ?  He  is  a  mystic ;  yet  it  is  a  sound, 

72 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

good  head  that  he  thus  stultifies.  Some  temperamen- 
tal aberration  misleads  him !  " 

Herr  Sachs  was  laughing  as  at  some  well-worn 
joke.  Persis  looked  at  him  with  some  wonder. 
"  Do  you  really  believe  in  those  dogmas  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  young  man  grimaced,  discomposed,  apparently, 
by  her  notice.  "  By  no  means,  by  no  means,  Frau- 
lein — I  am  a  devil-worshipper  " — he  exclaimed,  still 
laughing  rather  incoherently ;  "  am  I  not  a  friend  of 
Ludwig's?" 

"  Do  not  believe  him ;  his  is  no  such  dignified  creed," 
said  Wehlitz.  "  He  seeks  to  hide  his  infamy  from 
you.  Aha,  Conrad,  the  Fraulein  has  eyes  like  the 
dawn — like  the  dawn  over  the  sea;  she  can  see  into 
your  quaint  Christian  soul.  He  has  never  stepped 
freely  from  his  cradle,  Fraulein,  it  rocks  and  rocks 
him  still,  and  the  bells  of  Christmas  chime  in  his 
head."  He  was  looking,  not  untenderly,  yet  with  a 
sort  of  latent  irritation  at  the  young  man.  "  Is  it  not 
so,  Conrad?  Will  you  deny  that,  in  essentials,  you 
may  be  counted  as  a  Christian  ?  " 

Suddenly,  at  this,  and  to  the  astonishment  of  Persis 
and  her  mother,  Herr  Sachs  gave  a  long,  clear  cock- 
crow, and  then,  snapping  his  fingers  rapidly  in  the 
air,  still  grimacing,  he  got  up,  adjusting  his  crutch 
beneath  his  arm.  "  I  shall  escape  you,  Ludwig,"  he 
said.  "  I  shall  run  away  from  your  questions. 
Yours  is  an  inquisition  worse  than  that  of  Spain.  I 
shall  talk  to  the  ladies."  And  again  he  crowed  as  he 
limped  to  join  Eleanora  and  Mrs.  Fennamy.  "Lud- 

73 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

wig  is  mocking1  me,  signorina,"  he  said,  drawing  a 
chair  beside  them.  "  I  take  refuge  with  you." 

"  You  are  still  an  admirable  mimic,  Herr  Sachs," 
said  Eleanora,  kindly  if  with  a  certain  severity. 
"  Your  cock  startled  me.  I  thought  myself  just 
awake." 

"But  what  a  glorious  sound,  signorina,  is  it  not? 
and  comic,  too,  a  cock's  crow,"  said  Sachs,  glancing 
with  some  timidity  at  Mrs.  Fennamy,  whose  courteous 
scrutiny  did  not  conceal  astonishment.  "  It  fills  one 
with  mirth,  and  sadness.  Do  you  not  find  it  so  ?  It  is 
full  of  the  early  day,  and  yet  so  old,  so  very  old.  There 
is  nothing  that  seems  to  me  so  old.  I  think  always 
of  Ulysses  and  Ithaca  when  I  hear  a  cock  crow — 
Ithaca  seen  at  dawn  over  the  dark  sea.  Does  it  come 
in  the  Odyssey?  I  do  not  remember."  Herr  Sachs, 
it  was  evident,  sought  to  efface  the  memory  of  his  ex- 
travagance. 

"  You  still  keep  Ludwig  always  amused,  always  gay, 
when  you  are  with  him,  I  see  that,"  said  Eleanora, 
lifting  her  eyes  to  him  from  her  crochetting.  A  ball 
of  linen  thread  was  in  her  lap  and  a  narrow  band  of 
lace  lengthened  under  her  fingers.  Yards  of  this  lace 
she  presented  to  her  friends  at  the  New  Year.  Persis 
had  had  it  at  the  edge  of  her  petticoats  almost  as 
long  as  she  could  remember. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  keep  him  amused,  very  often.  But  it 
does  not  amuse  him  when  we  discuss  religion.  He 
does  not  like  that  at  all.  That  is  why  I  ran  away," 
said  Herr  Sachs,  still  with  his  touch  of  bash  fulness. 

74 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Herr  Sachs,  I  must  tell  you,  Annetta,"  said 
Eleanora,  "  has  been  a  very  wonderful  friend  to  Lud- 
wig. He  has  nursed  him  through  a  dangerous  ill- 
ness. Had  it  not  been  for  you,  Herr  Sachs,  I  do  not 
think  that  Ludwig  would  have  survived,  when,  in  the 
Riviera,  he  was  taken  so  ill,  a  year  ago.  Oh,  it  was 
a  terrible  time." 

"  He  was  ill ;  yes,  he  was  very  ill,"  said  the  young 
man.  His  face  had  changed  as  rapidly  in  expression 
as  a  dog's  when  it  lowers  pricked  ears.  "  But  I  do  not 
deserve  such  thanks,"  he  added.  "  It  is  Ludwig  who 
has  been  a  wonderful  friend  to  me." 

"  Ah,  I  know  that,  too,"  said  Eleanora,  with  con- 
viction. "  And  what  a  friend  is  our  Ludwig !  What 
kindness !  What  loyalty !  What  depth  of  heart ! " 

"  Yes,  yes,  he  has  all  that,"  said  Sachs,  nodding. 

"  Tell  me,"  Eleanora  went  on,  "  how  do  you  find 
him  now  ?  The  waters  do  him  good  ?  " 

"  It  is  too  soon  to  tell,  signorina,  but  I  hope  much 
from  them.  He  is  far  from  well.  He  has  a  great 
deal  to  trouble  him." 

"  This  silence,  you  mean :  this  silence  that  falls 
about  his  work.  It  is  like  a  dark  well,  a  well  into 
which  stars  fall  and  are  extinguished." 

"  Yes ;  that  is  well  said,"  Sachs  nodded,  "  well  said 
indeed,  signorina.  And  he  cannot  shake  off  the 
thought  of  that  silence.  It  weighs  upon  him.  He 
fears  that  his  message  may  not  come  to  the  world. 
And  now,  the  great  prose  poem :  it  is  just  to  be  issued. 
He  has  begun  to  read  the  proofs  and  re-lives  it  all," 

75 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  You  have  seen  it  ?     It  is  a  masterpiece  ?  " 
"  No,  I  have  not  seen  it ;  he  will  not  have  me  see  it 
until  it  is  in  book  form.     But  I  believe  that  it  will  be 
his  masterpiece,  signorina.     He  has  put  into  it  his 
whole  heart  and  mind." 

Mrs.  Fennamy  now  asked :  "  Is  n't  it  Herr 
Wehlitz's  digestion  that  is  wrong?  If  it  is,  and  he 
looks  to  me  like  it,  the  waters  are  sure  to  do  him 
good.  Nothing  upsets  one's  digestion  so  much  as 
worry.  You  remember,  Eleanora,  that  winter  when 
Persis  had  fever,  in  Florence ;  I  've  never  really  been 
right  since." 


CHAPTER  VII 

SIGNORINA  ZARDO,  full  of  her  hopes,  made 
her  way  that  evening  to  the  Hotel  Beau  Sejour. 
The  three  men  were  there  in  Ludwig's  salon;  little 
Sachs  at  the  centre  table,  leaning  on  his  hand  and 
silent,  as  he  so  often  was  in  Liidenstein's  presence,  and 
drawing,  as  was  also  his  wont,  neat  little  pictures  of 
flowers  and  birds  on  a  sheet  of  the  hotel  note-paper; 
Liidenstein  extended  in  a  chair,  a  pipe  between  his 
teeth  and  a  tall  glass  of  beer  beside  him;  while  Ludwig 
half  sat,  half  lay  on  the  sofa  that  stood  against  the 
wall  between  the  windows.  Ludwig  and  Liidenstein, 
it  was  evident,  were  engaged  in  an  altercation.  There 
was  always  a  latent  rivalry  and  antagonism  in  Lud- 
wig's attitude  to  this  follower,  for  although  a  follower, 
Liidenstein's  allegiance  was  confined  to  intellectual 
matters  and  his  appreciation  of  his  friend  did  not  go 
beyond  suavely  defined  limits.  In  his  manner  towards 
Ludwig,  personally,  there  was  no  homage;  at  times, 
indeed,  though  Wehlitz  was  the  senior  by  five  years, 
he  treated  him  with  the  affectionate  irony  of  an  older 
towards  a  much  younger  man,  the  tolerant  indulgence 
of  a  man  of  the  world  towards  a  man  who  could  claim 
no  such  experience.  How  deeply,  if  dimly,  Ludwig 
resented  these  implications,  Eleanora  was  aware,  and 

77 


TIME  LIMIT  IS  14  DAYS 
RETURN  AND  GET  ANOTHER 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

his  resentment  was  revealed  in  a  provocative  self-as- 
sertion, in  the  need,  constantly  betrayed,  of  proving 
to  himself  as  well  as  to  Liidenstein,  that  he  was 
Liidenstein's  follower  in  nothing.  "  Welcome  Elea- 
nora,  welcome ! "  he  cried  now,  and  with  an  exag- 
gerated gaiety,  as  she  entered.  "  You  come  most  op- 
portunely. We  were  talking  of  your  friends  and 
Liidenstein  and  I  are  not  of  one  mind  on  the  subject. 
I  find  that  Fraulein  Fennamy  has  beauty,  great  beauty, 
as  well  as  unusual  intelligence.  I  find  her  appear- 
ance of  the  greatest  distinction.  Liidenstein  will  con- 
sent neither  to  beauty  nor  distinction." 

Liidenstein,  puffing  quietly  at  his  pipe,  held  up  his 
hand.  "  Gently,  my  friend,  gently,"  he  smiled. 
"  You  overstate  our  difference ;  I  suspect  that  there  is 
little  distinction  of  blood  in  Fraulein  Fennamy,  but  I 
have  not  denied  that  she  possesses,  in  a  marked  degree, 
the  curious  acquired  distinction  so  characteristic  of 
her  country-women.  As  to  beauty,  no.  No,  my 
Ludwig.  There  is  no  beauty  in  that  sullen,  brilliant, 
brooding  little  face.  Force,  fire,  charm,  yes,  I  grant 
them  freely,  but  not  beauty.  The  face  is  incoherent, 
and  has  no  significance  of  form;  undress  it  of  its  in- 
telligence, and  you  find  the  mother's  triviality." 

Eleanora  had  seated  herself  at  the  table  near  Sachs 
and  had  stripped  off  her  long  gloves  and  unwound  the 
scarf  from  her  neck,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  Liidenstein 
while  he  spoke.  She  caught  up  the  gauntlet  thus 
thrown  down.  "  It  is  not  triviality,  Graf  von  Liiden- 
stein. The  face  of  my  friend,  Madame  Fennamy,  is, 

78 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

I  have  often  thought  it,  like  that  of  some  minute 
flower,  so  small,  so  unobtrusive  in  its  delicacy,  that 
one  might  pass  it  by  as  insignificant.  But  pause,  ex- 
amine it  closely,  and  you  will  find  what  the  minute 
and  delicate  may  express  of  power  and  purpose.  Ma- 
dame Fennamy  has  more  of  both,  let  me  assure  you, 
than  any  other  woman  I  have  known ;  and  among  sig- 
nificant women  my  experience  has  perhaps  been  wider 
than  even  yours!  And  if  you  speak  of  blood,"  Elea- 
nora  added,  "  I  have  been  to  the  American  States  and 
may  also  assure  you  that  in  those  mingled  currents 
there  are  many  strains  of  antique  race  as  good  as  any 
that  we  can  boast  of.  How  could  it  not  be  so?  " 

The  gratitude  in  Wehlitz's  eyes,  while  she  thus  an- 
swered Liidenstein's  challenge,  was  a  guerdon  and  a 
spur  to  the  devoted  woman.  "  Liidenstein's  ideal  is 
our  blonde,  bland  Germanic  female,"  he  said,  "  sleek, 
submissive,  sensual.  We  must  not  ask  him  for  a 
judgment  upon  types  as  foreign  from  his  apprehension 
as  Mrs.  Fennamy  and  her  daughter.  Of  the  mother, 
you  speak  my  thoughts,  Eleanora,  a  graceful  and  a 
finished  woman  of  the  world,  well  fitted  to  foster  a 
more  precious  flame  of  life.  The  father,  I  think  you 
told  me,  showed  the  strangeness,  the  power,  so  appar- 
ent in  the  child.  But  let  us  have  your  opinion,  Con- 
rad. Your  tastes,  we  can  be  sure  of  it,  are  not  Liiden- 
stein's. The  sleekly  sensual  is  not  for  you,  not  for  you 
Liidenstein's  courtezans  and  sentimental  Mddchen. — 
Come,  Conrad,  do  you  find  Fraulein  Fennamy  beau- 
tiful?" 

79 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

As  he  spoke — Liidenstein  laughing  softly  the  while, 
shaking  his  head  and  ejaculating:  "  A  woman  of  the 
world !  Ta-ta-ta !  " — Wehlitz  turned  on  his  sofa  and 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  his  young  friend  who  continued  to 
draw  his  flowers  and  birds. 

"  I  find  her  very  beautiful,  Ludwig,"  he  answered, 
not  looking  up  from  his  paper.  "  She  brings  old 
fairy-tales  into  my  mind:  a  princess  imprisoned,  im- 
prisoned in  a  lonely  tower  beside  the  sea.  Did  you 
not  say  this  morning  that  her  eyes  were  like  the  dawn 
over  the  sea?  I  find  them  so." 

"  Here,"  Liidenstein  murmured,  "  we  have  our  au- 
thority on  beauty  and  distinction." 

Wehlitz  continued  to  gaze  so  steadfastly  at  the 
young  man  that  Eleanora  could  not  tell  whether  he 
had  caught  the  comment. 

Then,  at  last,  "  It  is  well  said,  well  said,  Con- 
rad," he  returned,  "  and  your  judgment  has  value, 
for  yours  is  a  poetical  mind;  yes,  the  golden  bees  of 
old  German  romance  still  hum  and  sing  in  your  brain. 
We  look  for  honey  from  you,  one  day,  Conrad.  You 
have  seen  what  I  have  seen,  the  element  of  poetry  in 
this  young  girl,  of  the  remote,  the  mysterious,  the 
inaccessible.  You  told  me,  Eleanora,  that  she  wrote 
poetry  ?  " 

"  Ah,  she  would  hardly  consent  to  have  it  called 
so,"  said  Eleanora  eagerly.  "  I  call  it  poetry,  you 
might  not.  Strange  thoughts  visit  her  and  she  exhales 
them,  without  effort,  without  consciousness,  as  a 
flower  its  perfume.  Yes;  I  hope  some  day  to  show 

80 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

you  what  she  has  written.  She  refuses  to  think  of 
publication.  She  has  no  ambition." 

"  For  my  own  part,  though  you  lend  me  different 
tastes,  my  Ludwig,"  Liidenstein  here  remarked,  as  if 
continuing  placidly  the  train  of  his  own  thought,  "  I 
admire  the  Fraulein's  figure:  fine,  firm,  supple,  and 
well  rounded,  too,  for  one  so  young.  The  wrists,  too, 
are  well  turned  and  the  ankles.  The  knees  and  elbows 
would  also  be  charming.  Yes;  I  admire  her  figure 
unreservedly." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Sachs  did  not 
lift  his  eyes  from  his  drawing  but  his  colour  rose  until 
it  was  evident  that  the  young  man  was  hotly  blushing, 
a  blush  of  anger  rather  than  of  embarrassment;  and 
Wehlitz,  though  the  twitching  muscle  in  his  cheek 
betrayed  his  extreme  irritation,  went  on  after  a  mo- 
ment, as  though  he  had  not  heard :  "  You  know  my 
fondness  for  you,  Conrad,  and  since  our  meeting  with 
her  yesterday  I  have  been  aware  how  deeply  this 
young  girl  appealed  to  you.  I  have  sharp  eyes, 
Conrad.  Is  it  not  true  that  you  feel  deeply  for 
her?" 

Sachs  looked  up  now,  gravely.  He  did  not  reply 
and  Wehlitz,  as  if  he  had  not  expected  a  reply,  went 
on :  "  She  has  a  small  fortune,  Signorina  Zardo  tells 
me;  very  small  as  American  fortunes  go,  but  amply 
sufficient  to  secure  freedom  from  all  base  annoyances. 
And  I,  for  my  part,  would  see  that  you  were  not 
empty-handed,  Conrad.  The  idea  will  no  doubt  seem 
fantastic  to  you,  yet  I  mean  it  most  seriously  when 

81 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

I  ask  you,  why  should  you  not  marry  this  young 
American  ?  " 

Sachs's  pencil  had  remained  motionless.  He  sat 
gazing  at  his  friend. 

"  Was  it  not  love  at  first  sight,  Conrad  ?  "  Wehlitz 
inquired,  with  a  gentle  rallying  air. 

"  Dio  mio!"  Eleanora  exclaimed,  clasping  her 
hands  on  her  breast. 

Sachs,  after  his  long  stare,  was  blushing  again.  He 
sat,  his  face  brightly  illuminated  by  the  lamp,  a  help- 
less target  for  all  their  eyes.  Ludenstein  had  thrown 
back  his  head  and  was  laughing. 

"Love  at  first  sight,  Ludwig?"  said  the  young 
man,  now  in  a  severe  voice.  "  What  have  I  to  do 
with  love  at  first  sight?  You  do  the  young  lady  an 
unkindness  by  your  jests.  Her  name  has  been  already 
too  lightly  treated." 

"But  I  do  not  treat  it  lightly!  I  do  not  jest!  I 
speak  with  all  seriousness,"  Wehlitz  cried,  his  excite- 
ment breaking  through  the  mask  of  gaiety  so  evidently 
assumed.  "  I  see  the  disparities  as  clearly  as  you 
can  and  I  say,  deliberately,  that  they  are  atoned  for 
by  your  qualities  of  mind  and  heart.  Yours  is  a 
fine  and  powerful  mind,  misuse  it  though  you  do, 
and  you  are  capable  of  an  infinite  devotion — who 
should  know  that  better  than  I  ? — and  women  need  de- 
votion. She  is  not  as  other  women,  this  young  girl, 
she  is  above  them ;  she  scorns  their  parasitic  impulses ; 
yet  she  could  be  taught  what  they  imply  of  develop- 
ment. She  could  be  taught  that  a  woman's  highest 

82 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

mission  is  to  be  the  mother  of  great  men.  It  is  not 
her  right  to  shut  herself  away  from  this  claim  the  fu- 
ture has  upon  her.  It  is  the  future  that  calls  to  her. 
I  believe  that  your  and  Fraulein  Fennamy's  children 
would  be  exceptional." 

His  urgency,  his  excitement,  his  extravagance  ap- 
pealed, evidently,  too  much  to  Sachs's  sense  of  hu- 
mour for  his  severity  to  maintain  itself.  His  face, 
while  he  listened,  twisted  in  a  grimace  of  unwilling 
mirth  and  as  Wehlitz  ended,  he  burst  into  a  laugh. 
"Ludwig!  Ludwig!  Ludwig!"  he  said,  "You  look 
me  in  the  face — fortunately,  for  the  moment,  my  legs 
are  hidden! — and  you  speak  to  me  of  hereditary  ad- 
vantages! The  poor  Fraulein!  the  unfortunate 
princess,  indeed!  to  be  handed  over  to  a  plebeian 
cripple  who  can  barely  earn  his  bread  and  who  would 
bequeath  to  his  children  his  clumsy  form  and  his  ugly 
clown's  face!  It  is  a  picture  to  draw  tears  as  well 
as  laughter — is  it  not,  signorina?  and  I  can  see  the 
young  lady's  expression  as  it  was  proposed  to  her.  I 
beg  of  you,  Ludwig,  for  the  sake  of  your  friendship 
with  her,  do  not  let  your  brilliant  idea  go  further ! " 

"  Herr  Sachs  speaks  the  truth,  Ludwig,"  Eleanora 
said.  "  It  is  an  unseemly  jest.  Do  not  let  it  go  fur- 
ther. It  would  seriously  displease  Persis.  I  can  as- 
sure you  of  that." 

"  I  do  not  see  it  as  an  unseemly  jest.  I  repeat 
that  I  do  not  see  it  so,"  Wehlitz  cried,  with  increasing 
vehemence.  "  Why  should  you  imagine  me  incapable 
of  appreciating  that  young  girl's  claims  as  well  as 

83 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

you  and  Conrad,  and  of  having,  I  dare  swear,  as  keen 
a  regard  for  her  dignity.  I  do  not  agree  with  Con- 
rad as  to  his  face;  ugly  it  is,  but  full  of  force;  and 
Fraulein  Fennamy's  distinction  will  atone  for  his  lack 
of  it.  No,  I  do  not  see  it  as  a  laughing  matter.  It 
is  not  my  custom  to  make  unseemly  jests.  She  should 
be  married,  that  young  girl.  She  should  be  the  mother 
of  great  men." 

"  Then  why  not  the  mother  of  your  children,  Lud- 
wig?  "  said  Sachs.  "  Why  should  not  you  marry  the 
young  lady?  Aha!  I  turn  the  tables  on  you!  It  is 
your  turn  to  change  colour !  Why  should  not  the  fu- 
ture call  to  her  through  you?  You  can  give  her  fame 
as  well  as  devotion,  and  you  have  some  fortune,  too, 
and  are  of  good  birth." 

Wehlitz's  brow  had  darkened.  "No,"  he  said, 
"  that  is  not  well  of  you,  Conrad.  I  spoke  in  love 
for  you.  It  is  not  a  subject  for  mockery." 

"  But  I  do  not  speak  in  mockery,  Ludwig.  I  speak 
in  earnest;  more  earnestly,  at  all  events,  than  you  can 
speak." 

*  You  know  my  views  as  to  social  ties,"  said  Wehlitz 
darkly;  "they  are  not  for  me.  Marriage  would,  to 
me,  mean,  inevitably,  fetters,  compromise,  frustra- 
tion. Say,  if  you  like,  that  it  is  a  weakness  I  recog- 
nize in  myself ;  yes,  say  that  it  is  a  weakness,"  he  re- 
peated fiercely,  casting  a  covert  glance  upon  the  im- 
perturbably  smiling  Liidenstein,  "  and  that  if  I  allowed 
myself  to  love  I  should  love  too  deeply  and  too  ab- 
sorbedly.  I  know  the  dangers  of  my  own  tempera- 

84 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ment.  My  thought  would  become  lessened,  crippled, 
my  personality  would  alter  and  lose  its  edge.  Is  it 
not  my  mission  in  life  to  keep  my  blade  sharp  and 
clear?  No;  no  home,  no  children,  no  wife  for  me. 
Marriage,  for  the  prophet,  is  an  impossibility." 
Wehlitz,  as  he  spoke  these  last  words,  turned  over  on 
the  sofa  and  lay  at  full  length,  facing  the  wall. 

"But  why  speak  of  marriage  at  all,  Ludwig?" 
Sachs  inquired  mildly  after  a  little  silence.  "  Fraulein 
Fennamy  shares  your  views,  as  we  heard  from  her 
yesterday."  He  glanced,  smiling,  with  lifted  brows 
and  merrily  puckered  lips  at  Eleanora,  who,  not  ac- 
customed to  take  her  great  men  lightly,  looked  back 
at  him  with  some  solemnity.  Sachs  added  a  large 
fluted  tail  to  one  of  his  birds. 

"  She  may  think  so,"  Wehlitz  took  up  the  challenge 
after  another  moment;  "she  may  think  so,  in  her 
proud  ignorance  of  life.  But  woman  cannot  stand 
alone.  Woman  must  have  another  mate  than  thought. 
Woman,  when  she  is  not  a  mother,  is  a  contradiction, 
a  nothingness.  So  strongly  do  I  feel  this  necessity 
concerning  our  young  friend  that,  were  he  not  already 
married,  I  should  urge  the  same  suggestion  upon 
Liidenstein,  though,  I  owe  it  frankly,  I  should  prefer 
you,  with  all  your  disabilities,  as  a  husband  for  her, 
Conrad."  He  had  continued  speaking,  with  his  face 
turned  to  the  wall,  but  the  fingers  of  his  hand,  as  it 
lay  upon  his  thigh,  contracted  continually  and  ner- 
vously; now,  as  he  listened  for  Ludenstein's  answer, 
they  became  still. 

85 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Liidenstein,  it  seemed,  had  hardly  ceased  to  laugh 
since  the  beginning  of  the  discussion;  and,  before 
speaking,  he  lit  another  match  and  bent  his  head, 
shaken  by  quiet,  internal  merriment,  to  draw  at  his 
freshly  filled  pipe.  "  Would  you,  indeed,  my  friend  ? 
Would  you  indeed?"  he  commented.  "I  am  hon- 
oured and  gratified  by  your  choice  even  though  it  is 
only  a  second  choice,  a  faute  de  mieux.  But  no,  my 
Ludwig,  I  could  \inder  no  conceivable  circumstances 
enter  your  romantic  counsels.  The  Signorina,  who  is 
at  home  among  men,  will  pardon  my  frankness  if  I 
say  that  woman  is  for  me  a  toy,  a  relaxation,  a  grati- 
fication, and  nothing  more.  Surely,  then,  you  could 
hardly,  had  I  been  free  for  distribution,  have  chosen 
me  as  a  mate  for  our  soaring  young  friend,  who  sees 
herself  as  so  significant.  I  do  not  say  that  I  should 
be  an  unhappy  choice,  it  is  possible  that  I  am  more 
fitted  to  give  happiness  to  a  woman  than  those  who  take 
her  more  seriously." 

"I  do  not  speak  of  happiness,"  said  Wehlitz  in  a 
dry,  harsh  voice.  "  I  speak  of  development.  She  is 
not  one  of  your  happiness-mongers,  this  young 
girl." 

"Ah,  you  take  her,  indeed,  very  seriously,"  said 
Liidenstein.  "  And  I  have  never  taken  a  woman  seri- 
ously. I  do  not  even  make  your  sentimental  distinc- 
tion— boy  that  you  still  are  at  heart — for  woman  as 
wife  and  mother.  I  have  but  one  prejudice,  if  that 
can  be  called  a  prejudice  which  follows  inevitably  from 
my  convictions;  in  a  world  such  as  this  we  live  in, 

86 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

a  world  for  which  I  have,  morally  speaking,  the  most 
profound  contempt,  the  propagation  of  life  seems  to 
me  a  grotesque  and  pitiable  action.  My  own  mar- 
riage, you  will  remember,  has  remained  childless — and 
on  this  account  there  is  an  immense  outcry  and  cack- 
ling among  my  wife's  respectable  relatives,  who  share 
your  views  as  to  woman's  destiny,  Ludwig ! " 

While  Liidenstein  thus  declared  himself,  Wehlitz 
had  turned  upon  the  sofa  and  fixed  his  eyes  steadily 
upon  him.  His  expression,  as  he  did  this,  was  singu- 
lar. It  was  as  though  he  forced  himself  to  listen  with 
a  detachment  as  great  as  that  with  which  the  other 
spoke.  After  a  moment's  silence  he  observed :  "  I 
have  always  failed  to  understand  how  those  could 
be  the  views  of  one  who  accepts  my  interpretation  of 
life.  That  the  reproduction  of  the  slave-type  should 
be  severely  restricted  I  have  always  insisted,  and  woe 
to  the  nation  that  does  not  come  early  enough  to  the 
realisation  of  that  necessity!  But  that  the  proud, 
insatiable  master-type  should  condemn  itself  to  disap- 
pearance seems  to  me  a  madness,  a  degeneracy.  At 
heart,  Ernst,  you  are  a  pessimistic  hedonist." 

Liidenstein  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Fix  your 
labels  as  you  please,  my  friend.  It  is  with  your 
thought  as  destructive  of  illusions,  with  your  poetical 
gift  as  creator  of  beauty,  that  I  am  in  agreement.  For 
your  ethical  system — for  it  is  nothing  else — I  have  no 
use.  If  I  am  of  the  proud  and  insatiable  type,  as  you 
kindly  suggest,  I  have  no  wish  to  hand  on  the  species. 
I  am  sufficient  to  myself.  I  know  none  of  your  crav- 

87 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ings  towards  futurity."  Liidenstein  rose,  knocking 
out  the  ashes  of  his  pipe  against  the  stove. 

"  You  fear  life.  That  is  it,"  said  Wehlitz  in  a  low 
voice.  "  You  fear  the  future." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Liidenstein.  "  It  should  be  put 
differently.  I  do  not  fear  the  present.  I  do  not  fear 
myself.  I  am  contented  to  be  an  end  to  myself.  But 
it  grows  late  for  metaphysical  discussion  and  I  see, 
moreover,  that  the  Signorina  endures  my  negations 
with  impatience.  Adieu.  I  will  leave  you  to  your  ro- 
mantic deliberations,  only,  if  I  may,  I  will  venture  to 
offer  a  word  of  counsel  before  I  go."  He  paused, 
smiling  not  unkindly  down  upon  them.  Sachs  was 
again  busily  drawing  and  did  not  lift  his  eyes.  "  It 
is  this,  that  neither  you  nor  Herr  Sachs  consider 
Fraulein  Fennamy  as  a  wife.  She  has  great  force, 
great  charm;  but  she  is  not  a  home-builder;  not  the 
mother  of  a  great  race.  She  is,  like  so  many  of  our 
modern  women,  an  ineffectual  artist.  She  has  the 
artistic  impulse  without  its  capacity.  And,  with  her, 
ambition  takes  the  place  of  passion.  She  is  of  the 
ambiguous  race  of  those  who  love  imaginatively,  in- 
tellectually, not  physically;  a  dangerous  type,  cold,  in- 
satiable, devourers  of  men.  Be  careful,  therefore; 
that  is  my  very  affectionate  advice  to  you ;  be  careful. 
Do  not  imagine  that  in  Fraulein  Fennamy  you  will 
find  the  gentle  clay  to  mould  upon  the  wheel  of  your 
desire.  On  the  contrary,  she  may  mould  you.  The 
Signorina  will  forgive  me.  I  speak  with  scientific 
detachment."  Slightly  laughing,  slightly  shaking  his 

88 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

head,  he  thereupon  bade  them  good-night  and  de- 
parted. 

"  Liidenstein,  with  all  his  intelligence,  is  at  times  a 
dull  animal,"  Wehlitz  remarked  after  some  silent  mo- 
ments had  passed  and  in  a  voice  that,  for  all  his  ef- 
fort at  control,  trembled  with  intense  vexation. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  can  see  and  say  it,  Ludwig ! " 
Eleanora  exclaimed.  "  It  is  the  viveur's  standard  he 
applies.  Cold  and  insatiable!  my  Persis!  my  ardent 
spirit!" 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  Liidenstein's  diagnosis, 
Conrad  ? "  Wehlitz  inquired,  looking  over  at  the 
young  man  who,  his  elbows  now  planted  on  the  table, 
had  ceased  to  draw.  "  Is  there  truth,  do  you  think, 
in  what  he  says  of  Fraulein  Fennamy?" 

"  There  is  perhaps  some  truth,"  said  Sachs,  after  a 
moment. 

"What?  You  too,  Conrad!"  Wehlitz  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow.  "  Come,  come !  You  think 
then  that  this  young  girl  will  try  to  devour  us  ?  " 

"  Devour  us  ?  No,  I  do  not  think  that.  No,  cer- 
tainly not !  "  said  Sachs  laughing. 

"Well,  then?  What  do  you  think?  Explain 
yourself,"  said  Wehlitz  impatiently,  frowning  and 
beating  down  his  cushions.  "  You  speak  always  in 
jest.  It  becomes  wearisome !  " 

"Ah,  Ludwig!"  Sachs  cast  a  glance  half  grave, 
half  comical  upon  his  friend,  "  how  should  I  say  what 
I  think.  I  do  not  know  what  I  think,  and  I  have 
none  of  Graf  von  Liidenstein's  fluency.  He  hates 

89 


women,  or,  no,  it  is  truer  to  say  that  he  despises  them, 
and  there  is  often  much  insight  in  contempt.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  love  there  is  even  more.  So,  though 
there  may  be  truth  in  what  he  says,  it  should  not 
disturb  you." 

"  I  agree,  I  agree,"  Eleanora  observed,  the  startled 
severity  of  the  glance  she  had  at  first  fixed  upon  him 
relaxing.  "  All  of  us  poor  humans  are  complicated 
creatures,  deserving  of  both  love  and  hate.  That  is 
all  that  you  would  say,  is  it  not,  Herr  Sachs  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  all,"  Sachs  nodded.  "  And  Graf  von 
Ludenstein  is  a  clever  man.  I  always  feel  that  there 
is  much  truth  in  what  he  says,  though  so  much  that 
he  says  displeases  me.  It  is  true  that  young  things 
are  selfish;  the  self  must  at  first  absorb  and  interest 
us  most.  And  the  Fraulein  is  so  young.  Too  young 
to  understand  herself.  How,  then,  should  we  under- 
stand her?  And  since  she  is  a  woman  she  will  tend 
to  become  what  the  man  who  loves  her  makes  of  her. 
Hein,  signorina,  is  not  my  psychology  profound?" 
He  looked  with  his  sad,  merry  eyes  at  Eleanora.  "  I 
ought  to  have  been  a  novelist ! " 

Wehlitz  had  been  listening  with  evident  fretfulness. 
*'  There  is  a  selfishness,  young  or  old,  which  I  admire 
and  which  I  would  encourage  in  Fraulein  Fennamy," 
he  said.  "  I  do  not  fear  her.  I  will  mould  her.  I 
will  make  her  think  higher  things  of  herself  than  she 
can  dream." 

Eleanora  rose.  It  was  getting  late  and  this  was  a 
propitious  note.  She  stooped  over  Wehlitz  to  press 

90 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

his  hand.  "Well  said,  Ludwig;  well  said,"  she  as- 
sured him.  "  Yours  is  the  hand  and  brain  she  needs 
in  order  to  find  herself.  And  it  is  not  to  Graf  von 
Liidenstein  that  you  must  listen.  It  is  to  Herr 
Sachs." 

The  remark  was  unfortunate.  Wehlitz  replied  with 
a  more  marked  irritation.  "  I  need  listen  to  nobody. 
My  own  opinions  are,  in  this  as  in  all  matters,  enough 
to  guide  me." 

Sachs  had  accompanied  Signorina  Zardo  to  the  door 
and  he  went  with  her  down  the  passage.  She  paused 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  "  Dio  mio!  Herr  Sachs," 
she  murmured,  "  what  possessed  Ludwig  to  offer  my 
proud  young  friend  in  marriage  in  this  fashion!  I 
cannot  understand  his  state  of  mind." 

Sachs,  leaning  on  his  crutch,  looked  at  her  mildly 
and  shrewdly.  "  Can  you  not,  signorina?  It  is  not 
difficult  to  understand.  It  was  a  fanfaronade  of  Lud- 
wig's;  to  prove  to  Graf  von  Ludenstein  his  detach- 
ment. He  is  jealous  of  Graf  von  Ludenstein.  And 
also  he  wished  to  see  what  effect  his  proposals  would 
have  on  him." 

"  You  think  our  great  Ludwig  is  so  weak  and  fool- 
ish ! "  Eleanora  said  with  some  indignation. 

"  Mein  Gott,  signorina,  have  we  not  agreed  that  we 
all  have  our  weaknesses ! "  said  Sachs  laughing. 

Eleanora  was  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  about 
the  dimly  lighted  passage  and  down  into  the  well  of 
the  staircase.  A  lazy  porter  yawned  lengthily  below. 
"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  she  observed  at  last.  "  Per- 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

haps  you  have  seen  clearly.  It  may  have  been  jeal- 
ousy." 

**  I  am  sure  it  was,"  smiled  Sachs. 

They  heard  now  Wehlitz's  fretful  voice.  "Con- 
rad !  Conrad !  What  are  you  doing?  "  it  called  from 
the  salon.  "  I  want  you.  You  are  not  to  leave  me 
yet!" 

"  Good-night,  signorina,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  Do  not  take  Ludwig's  fantastic  behaviour  too 
hardly.  It  means  only  kind  and  generous  things,  at 
bottom,  like  so  many  of  Ludwig's  fantasies.  And  the 
Fraulein  will  never  hear  of  it." 

"  Let  us  hope  not — let  us  hope  not,  indeed ! "  Elea- 
nora  ejaculated,  descending. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

PERSIS  and  Wehlitz  were  climbing  among  the 
vineyards  to  the  beech-woods.  They  had  left 
Tannenkreuz  by  the  little  bridge  that  crossed  the  docile 
river  and  taken  this,  the  most  direct  path.  The  pine- 
clad  summits  lay  on  the  left,  dominating  the  tamer 
graces  of  the  landscape  with  a  touch  of  haughty  ro- 
mance. Wehlitz  had  asked  her  that  morning — the 
third  that  they  had  spent  under  the  apple-trees,  and 
since  the  first  he  had  come  alone — if  she  would  go  with 
him  to  the  beech-woods  where  there  was  a  spot,  much 
loved  by  him,  that  he  would  like  to  show  her.  Their 
first  walk  had  been  a  purposeless  progression,  on  and 
on  and  round  and  round  the  Kur-Garten  and  the  river 
path,  while  they  talked  voraciously.  Now  they  walked 
in  silence  and  with  a  sense  of  intimacy  that  the  im- 
personal and  passionate  discussions  of  the  mornings 
had  not  brought. 

The  path  among  the  vineyards  was  hot  and  stony. 
Persis  carried  her  green  sunshade  and  they  paused 
often  to  look  back  over  the  town  and  river.  It  was 
Wehlitz  who  broke  the  silence. 

"  To-day  we  must  talk  of  ourselves,  Fraulein,"  he 
said,  with  the  mingling  of  appeal  and  authority  char- 
acteristic of  his  attitude  towards  the  young  girl. 

93 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  We  know  of  each  other  already  the  essential ;  we 
know  what  each  possesses  of  freedom  and  of  force; 
but  the  history  of  the  forces,  their  goal,  and  aim,  is 
yet  to  be  told." 

From  the  green  shadow  cast  by  her  sunshade  Persis 
turned  her  calm  regard  upon  him;  calm  and  cool  and 
grave,  it  was  the  gaze  of  a  naiad,  of  a  creature  without 
a  past  or  a  future,  and  it  seemed  in  the  spirit  of  such  a 
detachment  that  she  said,  after  a  moment,  very  slightly 
smiling:  "  I  have  had  no  history." 

"  No?  A  young  lady  who  at  ten  wrote  poetry  and 
quoted  Dante — Eleanora  has  told  me  much,  you  see — 
and  who  at  sixteen  wished  to  join  the  Nihilists  ? " 
He  leaned  to  look  into  her  face  with  the  tender,  rally- 
ing look  she  so  often  aroused. 

"Is  that  history?  Eleanora,  then,  can  tell  you 
all  that  there  is  to  tell." 

"Ah;  not  of  the  inner  life  and  purpose.  You  will 
not  make  me  believe  that  Eleanora  has  partaken  of 
them.  Devoted  creature  that  she  is,  and  full,  too, 
of  intelligence,  she  is  not  of  your  kind.  She  is  not  of 
the  type  that  chooses,  that  rejects,  that  is  ruled  by 
itself — as  you  are." 

Persis  seemed  to  receive  this  as  a  contribution  to- 
wards self-knowledge  and  to  reflect  upon  it.  "  If  I 
am  like  that,"  she  said,  "  I  am  not  aware  of  it.  I  am 
not  conscious  of  an  aim.  All  that  I  feel  of  myself  is 
that  I  am  waiting — can  one  wait  with  intensity? — 
Isn't  it  very  young  to  be  all  interrogation,  intense  in- 
terrogation? I  may  have  power,  but  nothing  seems 

94 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

yet  to  have  been  put  into  my  hands.     I  am  always 
surprised  at  the  things  that  content  other  people." 

He  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment  without  speaking. 
"  I  will  put  something  into  your  hands,"  he  said 
presently.  "  I  will  put  a  sword  into  your  hands.  My 
thought ;  it  is  a  sword.  And  you,  into  my  heart  will 
put  a  song." 

She  was  touched  and  elated.  He  was  beautiful,  she 
felt.  And,  as  was  usual  with  her  when  moved,  she 
remained  silent,  looking  away  from  him.  They  en- 
tered the  beech-woods.  "  Tell  me,"  Wehlitz  went  on 
presently — he  had  seen  that  he  had  pleased  her  and 
his  face  was  full  of  happiness; — "  tell  me,  shall  we  not 
drop  the  puerile  conventions  of  that  lesser  world  we 
both  despise  ?  They  raise  a  barrier  between  us.  May 
I  not  call  you  Persis?  It  is  a  beautiful  name.  It 
sounds  like  the  name  of  a  goddess  whose  forgotten 
shrine  might  stand  in  a  lonely  island  of  the  Grecian 
archipelago." 

"  By  all  means  call  me  Persis,"  she  said  smiling,  for 
his  pronunciation,  like  Eleanora's,  gave  the  word 
Latin  vowels  and  consonants.  "  In  its  original  English 
it  would  not,  I  think,  suggest  poetical  analogies.  My 
mother,  you  know,  calls  it  Pursiss." 

"  Ah,  even  so  it  is  full  of  grace — full  of  grace  and 
strangeness;  of  leaves  that  whisper,  rivulets  that  sing. 
And  you  will  call  me  Ludwig?  " 

"  Your  name  makes  me  think  of  knights  and  an- 
chorites," said  Persis.  "  Yes,  indeed,  I  will  call  you 
Ludwig." 

95 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Of  knights  and  anchorites?  "  His  delight  was  ap- 
parent, a  boyish,  almost  a  childish  delight.  "  But  that 
is  apt,  singularly  apt.  On  my  mother's  side  I  am,  as 
you  may  have  heard,  of  an  ancient  and  chivalrous 
family.  And  my  life  is  the  austere  life  of  thought, 
a  dedicated  life,  the  anchorite's.  Yes,  it  is  well  found. 
You  too,"  he  smiled,  "  have — you  need  not  tell  me  so, 
for  it  is  apparent — strains  of  a  noble  blood  in  you,," 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Persis.  She  was  looking 
about  her  now,  at  the  woods,  the  fan-like  branches  of 
the  beeches  spreading  horizontal  webs  of  green,  the 
dense,  soft  brown  of  fallen  leaves,  the  chinks  and 
spaces  of  summer  sky  above.  She  listened  to  him,  but 
her  thoughts  were  tangled  in  the  green  and  light, 
fluttering  like  birds  from  branch  to  branch;  this 
vagrancy  of  attention  was  frequent  with  her.  j 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  again  Eleanora  who  supplies  me  with 
my  background:  your  father  was  a  remarkable  man, 
a  soldier,  I  think,  a  man  of  war.  And,  I  think,  of  an 
old  Irish  family." 

"  No ;  he  was  a  newspaper  editor  in  a  little  American 
town,"  said  Persis.  "  Perhaps  you  are  thinking  of 
mamma's  father.  He  was  killed  in  the  Civil  War." 

"As  I  said.  A  martial  blood  beats  in  your  veins, 
the  blood  of  conquerors." 

His  persistence  caught  back  her  attention  to  him. 
She  looked  round  at  him  with  a  mild  amusement. 
"  You  would  hardly  say  so  if  you  could  see  the  daguer- 
reotype mamma  has  of  her  father;  a  kindly,  insignifi- 
cant creature,  more  like  a  sheep  than  a  soldier.  The 

96 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Civil  War,  you  see,"  she  enlightened  him,  "  drove  so 
many  unlikely  types  into  the  struggle.  My  grand- 
father was  not  a  soldier,  though  he  died  in  battle." 

Wehlitz  would  not  relinquish  some  part,  at  least, 
of  his  myth.  "  A  heroic  struggle ;  I  have  read  of  it ; 
heroic  in  defeat;  a  struggle  for  the  ideal  of  aristocracy. 
Slaves  indeed  should  do  your  bidding." 

A  slight  but  definite  irony  edged  her  smile.  "  But 
we  were  Northerners  I  am  glad  to  say.  As  far  as  I 
know  anything  about  it,  my  prejudices,  and  certainly 
all  my  traditions,  are  on  the  Northern  side.  I  should 
have  hated  to  have  slaves.  It  is  a  repellent  relation- 
ship, I  think." 

Wehlitz  had  flushed.  "  You  marshal  your  facts  as 
if  to  prove  to  me  with  them  that  you  are  not,  what 
your  very  independence  of  them  proves  that  you  are — 
an  aristocrat  to  the  bone." 

"  I  certainly  don't  feel  that  I  need  conquering  an- 
cestors to  give  me  independence,"  she  returned. 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  there  that  you  are  wrong ;  we  owe 
them  everything,  our  ancestors.  Without  their  pride 
and  prowess  we  should  be  the  slaves  and  not  the 
masters.  All  that  is  of  value  is  inheritance.  The 
efforts  of  the  small  and  weak  to  raise  themselves  only 
result  in  ugliness  and  deformity." 

"  Ah,  well,  the  wish  to  rise,  the  effort,  shows  that  the 
man  cannot  be  entirely  weak  and  small.  And  some  one 
must  have  begun.  But  I  think  you  would  have  been 
interested  in  my  father,"  she  went  on,  aware  that  he 
was  embarrassed  by  the  fear  of  having  offended  her 

97 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

and  feeling  very  kindly  towards  him.  "  I  must  show 
you  the  photographs  we  have  of  him.  Yes,  he  was 
Irish,  but  not  of  a  great  family.  He  was  the  son  of 
an  Irish  country  doctor  and  he  ran  away  from  home 
when  his  mother  died.  He  was  a  rebellious  creature, 
and  full  of  gaiety  and  scorn;  one  sees  it  in  his  face." 

"  As  in  yours ;  as  in  yours ;  yes ;  you  shall  not 
make  nothing  of  my  convictions ! "  Wehlitz  cried,  with 
quickly  recovered  radiance.  "  See ;  this  is  the  spot 
I  wished  to  find.  Is  it  not  peaceful?  Shall  we  rest 
here — and  tell  each  other  of  our  lives?" 

"You  shall  tell  me  of  yours,  since  you  are  old 
enough  to  have  had  a  history,"  said  Persis. 

They  had  come  from  the  woods  into  a  green  nook, 
open  to  the  sky  and  divided  on  one  hand  from  fields 
of  tall  grain  by  a  grassy  bank  and  a  row  of  pastoral 
trees.  Persis  sat  down  on  the  grass  and  Wehlitz, 
taking  off  his  hat,  stretched  himself  beside  her  and 
leaned  his  head  on  his  hand.  He  was  happy  once 
more  and  did  not  need  to  be  asked  again  for  his  story. 
He  longed  to  pour  it  out,  to  gain  her  sympathy  and 
understanding;  she  did  not  need  to  gain  his;  she  felt 
this,  and  that  his  curiosity  in  regard  to  her  was  more 
than  satisfied  by  her  presence  there  beside  him.  She 
more  than  answered  for  herself. 

A  series  of  pictures  rose  before  Persis  while  he 
spoke.  He  told  her  all,  from  the  very  beginning:  the 
strange  little  boy,  formal,  sensitive,  full  of  pride  and 
generosity:  the  quaint  German  town;  the  sober  ten- 
der-hearted customs;  the  traditions  of  duty,  and  re- 

98 


sponsibility ;  and,  over  all,  as  in  an  old  German  child's 
picture-book,  the  clustered  bells  of  the  happy  simple 
faith.  After  that  came  the  pictures  of  youth  and 
storm,  of  the  bankruptcy  of  belief,  and  of  manhood 
with  its  scholastic  triumphs  and  ardent  friendships. 
Her  clear,  if  untrained  mind  followed,  without  the  aid 
of  images,  the  growth  of  his  inexorable  thought  as  he 
told  her  of  it,  spreading  chasms  around  him  that  those 
he  loved  could  not  cross.  To  bear  witness  to  his  light 
had  been  to  sever  all  the  ties,  once  so  dear,  and  to 
drive  himself  naked  and  bleeding  into  the  wilderness. 
For  years  he  had  wandered  there,  looking  down  upon 
a  fen  of  baseness  where  men,  refusing  to  listen  to  his 
drastic  creed,  battened  upon  illusions  and  clung  to- 
gether for  warmth  and  safety. 

Wehlitz's  face  had  grown  scimbre  while  he  spoke. 
Half  turned  from  her  he  looked  down,  plucking  at  the 
tall  grasses  under  his  hand.  The  muscle  twitched  in 
his  cheek  and  his  voice  dropped  to  long  silences.  Once 
he  brushed  angrily  at  his  eyes  and  she  saw  that  his 
tears  had  risen.  "  And  now,"  he  said,  the  story  hav- 
ing reached  its  end,  "  I  am  alone.  The  few  whom  I 
thought  I  might  still  count  as  friends  did  not  deign 
to  acknowledge  my  *  Mountain  Cry.'  It  enraged  and 
terrified  them.  They  hide  from  me.  I  take  from 
them  all  the  props  they  live  by.  I  leave  them  only 
what  they  have  of  native  strength ;  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at,  perhaps,  that  they  hate  and  fear  me! — the 
cravens ! " 

He  had,  she  saw  it  clearly,  almost  forgotten  her,, 

99 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

His  voice  was  fierce  and  moody.  Almost  two  hours 
had  passed  while  he  told  his  story  and  the  afternoon 
sun  slanted  over  the  bank  casting  long  shadows  from 
the  trees  above  them.  Persis,  suddenly,  felt  that  she 
was  tired.  "  You  have  still  Graf  von  Liidenstein  and 
Herr  Sachs  ?  "  she  questioned.  She  would  be  too  late 
for  tea,  she  was  thinking.  Also  she  watched  a  little 
bird  that  fluttered,  with  bright  glimmers  of  the  wings, 
from  branch  to  branch  among  the  lower  bushes  at  the 
wood-edge — a  chaffinch.  She  wondered  if  Wehlitz 
was  fond  of  birds.  She  had  almost  added  the  ques- 
tion to  her  first  one,  but  checked  it. 

He  plucked  at  the  grass,  knitting  his  brows.  "  Yes, 
yes,  yes,  I  have  them."  He  spoke  rather  fretfully; 
how  completely,  indeed,  he  had  forgotten  her.  "  But 
they  are  not  such  disciples  as  I  seek.  Liidenstein  and 
I  have,  at  bottom,  little  in  common ;  his  is  an  indolent, 
if  brilliant  mind;  it  is  pleasure  he  seeks,  not  joy,  and 
joy,  tragic  joy,  is  the  climax  of  my  initiation.  Liiden- 
stein is  not  capable  of  tragedy  or  of  joy.  His  is  the 
cynical  smile  of  the  worldling,  not  the  brave,  god-like 
laughter.  Still,  yes,  after  a  fashion  I  believe  that 
Ernst  is  devoted  enough.  The  recondite  pleases  his 
aesthetic  sense  and  he  gains  lustre  in  his  own  eyes  from 
his  association  with  me." 

"And  Herr  Sachs?" 

Wehlitz's  face  involuntarily  softened.  "  Yes. 
Sachs  indeed  is  my  friend,  my  dear  friend,  devoted, 
loyal.  But  our  minds  do  not  meet,  not  at  all.  He 
calls  the  empty  sky  upon  which  we  evoke  our  visions, 

100 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

God,  and  the  fen-parasites  his  brothers,  and  says  that 
each  of  them  may  see  the  sky.  Poor  Conrad!  Yet 
not  a  hypocrite, — a  sincere  self-deceiver.  He  limps 
along,  mentally  and  physically,  and  makes  a  creed 
from  incompatibles — like  his  Hegel,  the  web-spinner. 
And  frank,  he  has  been  frank.  He  does  not  try  to 
deceive  me  with  compromises.  From  the  first,  when 
I  led  him  to  my  icy  mountain  top,  he  said,  *  No,  here 
we  part.'  I  do  not  blame  him." 

"  He  lives  with  you  ?  "  Still  she  watched  the  bird 
and  her  thoughts  were  as  much  with  it  as  with  Wehlitz. 

"  Lives  with  me  ?  Perhaps  we  may  say  so.  Since 
a  year  ago,  one  may  call  it  that.  It  was  a  time  of 
great  distress  for  me.  I  was  ill,  gravely  ill,  haunted, 
pursued.  Conrad  came  to  me,  left  his  work,  his  life — 
and  came.  He  shall  not  lose,  no,  I  shall  see  to  it  that 
he  does  not  lose,  and  he  carries  on  his  work  now  quite 
happily.  He  too,  writes  and  says  that  he  is  glad  of 
the  leisure  his  companionship  to  me  permits  him.  Yes, 
he  writes :  webs — webs — webs — to  entangle  the  feet  of 
other  cripples.  Well — let  them  swing  merrily  in  the 
sunshine!  One  does  not  grudge  to  cripples  their  al- 
leviations !  But  for  Conrad's  thought — it  is  not  to  be 
taken  seriously.  I  do  not  consider  it.  It  does  not 
count  with  me  at  all." 

"  His  voice  is  a  much  pleasanter  voice  than  Graf 
von  Liidenstein's,"  said  Persis  absently.  "  I  have  not 
looked  carefully  at  him  yet,  but  I  think  that  with  all 
his  ugliness  his  face  pleases  me  the  most." 

"  Ah.  It  does  ?  "  Wehlitz  at  last  looked  up  at  her, 
101 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

and  with  a  new  vividness.  "  And  me,  too,  it  pleases 
more.  Yet  Ernst  is  a  fine  looking  man,  do  you  not 
find?" 

Persis  was  laughing  a  little,  her  limpid  yet  mirthless 
laughter.  "  Is  he  ?  Do  you  know  what  mamma  says 
about  him,  that  his  hips  are  too  fat.  It  does  strike 
one,  you  know." 

Wehlitz  loudly  laughed,  drawing  himself  upright. 
"  Good.  Yes.  Good.  I  am  glad  that  as  to  Liiden- 
stein  you  feel  with  me."  He  was  looking  at  the  young 
girl  almost  merrily  and  as  if  at  last  he  saw  her  again. 
"  You  are  pale,  Persis,"  he  went  on.  "  I  have  talked 
and  talked  and  perhaps  wearied  you." 

"  No.  I  am  glad  to  have  heard  your  history.  It 
makes  me  understand  you  better.  You  have  been 
very  brave." 

"  Brave,  yes,  I  have  been  brave,"  said  Wehlitz  with 
a  deep  sigh,  "but  at  times  weary,  weary  beyond 
words."  He  extended  himself  again  in  the  grass. 
"  Ah — it  is  good  to  lie  here  and  to  tell  it  all  to  you, 
who  understand.  How  deep  is  the  trust  I  feel  in  you, 
Persis.  Brave  and  weary,  so  it  goes,  the  pulse,  the 
pulse  of  life,  the  effort,  and  then  the  swoon  when  life 
seems  to  ebb  away."  He  had  closed  his  eyes. 

"  That  is  like  a  poem  I  wrote  once,"  said  Persis 
presently.  "  How  little  I  thought  that  I  was  to  meet 
anyone  like  you  when  I  wrote  it.  I  think  that  I  have 
felt  brave  and  weary,  too,  though  I  am  so  young." 

He  sat  up  at  once,  with  widely  open  eyes.  "  A 
poem?  Eleanora  has  told  me  of  your  poems.  What 

1 02 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

is  this  poem?  Our  poem — for,  yes,  our  hearts  beat 
as  one — have  I  not  felt  it  from  the  first?  Say  it  to 
me." 

"  It  was  about  a  flying  bird  that  I  had  watched.  I 
am  very  fond  of  watching  birds.  Are  you?  Even 
the  sparrows  in  towns  I  like  to  watch." 

"  No,  I  have  not  watched  them.  You  must  teach 
me  to  watch  them  with  you." 

"  You  know,  when  they  fly.  Does  it  not  make  you 
feel  an  almost  unendurable  gladness  for  them  ?  " 

"No;  I  have  not  felt  it;  I  have  not  thought  of  it. 
But  say  the  poem.  Let  me  hear  it,"  he  cried  vehem- 
ently, gazing  intently  at  her. 

Persis  sat  above  him  looking  down  at  him,  her  hands 
folded  on  her  knees,  and  in  her  cool,  monotonous 
voice,  that  yet  lent  to  the  words  a  curious  magic,  she 
repeated : 

Beating  wings,  soaring  wings,  wings  of  joy — 

Pulsing  wings — you  are  like  my  heart  in  its  sorrow; 

It  beats  in  hope  and  it  pauses  for  sorrow  to  soar ; 

It  beats  like  your  wings — like  your  wings  against  the  sky; 

But  the  pulse  of  its  hope  is  pain  and  its  pause  is  sorrow. 

It  beats  in  darkness;  but  you  fly  over  the  sun. 

It  strives  in  silence;  but  the  music  of  earth  mounts  to  you. 

It  pauses  in  wonder;  but  you  are  glad  without  thought. 

My  heart  and  life  are  like  the  beating  of  wings; 

Ever  not  yet;  ever  to  pause  and  go; 

Ever  to  strive  and  float  and  desire  and  dream, — 

And  a  dream  is  the  pause  and  a  joy  is  the  pulse  into  pain. 


103 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Pause,  oh  life,  too  long,  and  you  pass  away, 
Your  dream  to  nothingness  fades,  you  faint  from  the  sun; 
• — Like  the  dew  in  the  sun  your  dream  and  your  pain  are  over 
As  a  bird  too  long  outstretched  on  its  joy  would  fall  to  the 
ground. 

After  she  had  finished,  Wehlitz  sat  looking  at  her  in 
silence.  Then  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  But  you 
have  said  it  all,  wonderful  child,"  he  murmured. 

"  No,  not  all — it  was  a  mood,"  said  Persis.  "  Life 
itself  is  more  like  the  bird,  I  think,  with  more  joy  in 
the  flight." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said  slowly,  looking  at  her.  "  Life 
is  joy,  its  pain  and  horror  are  joy,  and  to  pause  too 
long  is  to  fall  to  nothingness;  for  beyond  our  flight 
there  is  nothing.  You  see  it  all,  all  is  there  in  your 
poem.  The  rapture  of  impulse  and  creation  and  the 
dark  pause  of  contemplation  where  life  knows  itself 
and  the  emptiness  in  which  it  hovers.  Were  we  not 
destined  to  meet,  Persis?  You  seem  to  me  to  be  my 
other  self:  the  very  spirit  of  my  dreams." 

His  deep  emotion  stirred  an  answering  emotion  in 
her.  Tenderness  made  part  of  it,  but  deeper  than 
tenderness  was  the  delight  she  felt  in  his  delight.  His 
delight  in  her  was  a  halo  cast  around  him.  She  stood 
bathed  in  its  radiance  and  she  felt  no  need  to  draw 
nearer  to  the  man  who  cast  it.  "  I  think  that  it  is  you 
I  was  waiting  for,"  she  said  gravely.  "  I  think  that 
you  will  make  me  fly." 

"We  will  fly— fly— fly  together,"  said  Wehlitz. 
"  And  I  will  arm  you  with  my  thoughts  and  you  will 

104 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

wreathe  your  thoughts  for  me.  Ah,  beautiful  child, 
are  you  indeed  to  be  my  perfect  friend  ?  "  He  had 
put  out  his  hand  and  laid  it  on  hers. 

She  was  a  little  troubled.  She  believed  herself 
quite  capable  of  being  a  perfect  friend,  yet  she  was 
not  prepared  for  the  profound  trust  and  tenderness 
expressed  in  his  gaze  and  gesture.  She  pressed  his 
hand  and  rose.  "  I  think  that  I  can  be  a  perfect 
friend,"  she  said. 

The  vineyards  on  the  hill-side  lay  in  shadow,  and 
when  they  had  crossed  the  bridge  and  entered  Tannen- 
kreuz  the  sun  had  set.  Persis  walked  in  a  happy 
mood.  The  sense  of  power  he  gave  her  was  like  a 
translucent  lake  in  which  she  could  dive  and  float  and 
swim.  She  was  too  tired,  now,  to  wish  to  swim;  she 
lay  buoyantly  supported  by  the  magical  water  and  it 
stretched,  shining,  all  about  her  and  far,  far  away  to 
the  horizons  of  her  life.  Above  it  birds,  their  birds, 
soared  and  floated  and  vague  rhythms  wreathed  them- 
selves in  her  mind.  They  came  to  the  pension  gates. 
Wehlitz  broke  the  silence. 

"  It  is  as  if  we  had  gone  on  a  long  journey,  you 
and  I,  Persis,  is  it  not?  And  it  is  only  the  first  of 
many." 

"  We  can  hardly,  at  any  time,  make  a  longer  one, 
can  we  ?  "  said  Persis. 

They  stood  there  in  the  twilight  at  the  gate,  under 
the  ranged  poplars  of  the  street,  and  she  was  aware — • 
it  was  like  waking  from  a  dream  to  become  aware  of 
it — that  they  were  probably  visible  to  her  mother 

105 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

from  the  sitting-room  window.  The  thought  came 
with  the  discomfort  that  so  often  attends  waking. 
She  hoped  that  he  would  go  now  and  not  try  and  keep 
her  there.  She  was  so  very  sleepy. 

"  No,"  Wehlitz  was  saying,  "  not  longer  flights,  for 
that  could  scarcely  be.  Sky  and  abyss,  we  have  to-day 
traversed  them  both.  But  there  are  many  paths 
through  the  sky,  through  the  abyss ;  we  are  to  traverse 
them  all  together." 

"  I  am  ready." 

He  looked  at  her.  His  hand  held  the  gate-post. 
"  I  wish  always  to  be  with  you." 

His  gaze  was  grave,  tremulous,  beautiful.  She  felt 
it  so;  again  he  moved  her,  almost  with  a  sense  of  pity; 
and  how  discordant  it  was  that  at  such  a  moment  the 
thought  of  her  mother's  quiet,  unsparing  vision  should 
bring  incongruous  analogies.  Why  should  he  remind 
her  suddenly  of  a  little  chemist  from  whom  she  had 
bought  toilet  vinegar  one  day  in  a  steep,  hot  Italian 
street?  He  had  had  a  large,  high  brow,  aggressively 
and  foolishly  expansive,  and  a  great  moustache  over- 
whelming a  chin  the  more  futile  for  its  veiling,  and  as 
he  tied  up  the  toilet  vinegar  he  had  looked  at  her  with 
fierce,  foolish,  romantic  eyes.  How  hateful  of  her 
to  have  remembered  him!  It  was  her  mother's 
thought  and  she  tried  to  call  it  back,  but  still  it  lingered 
on  Wehlitz,  remarking  that  his  trousers  were  over- 
large  and  that  stood  with  a  trained,  habitual  tension 
that  had  no  military  ease.  She  cut  short  the  unworthy 
moment,  holding  out  her  hand.  "  Yes,  we  must  never 

106 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

part,  we  are  always  to  be  comrades.  I  feel  it.  Now 
I  must  leave  you." 

He  held  her  hand.  "  I  am  to  come  again  to-morrow  ? 
To-morrow  morning?" 

"Of  course.  We  have  our  lesson  to-morrow.  In 
the  garden,  as  usual." 

"  And  will  you  walk  with  me  again  to-morrow 
afternoon?  Or  drive  with  me?  to  the  vineyards? 
It  is  a  beautiful  drive.  And  I  have  so  much  to  say 
to  you." 

"  Let  us  drive,  then,  in  a  few  days  from  now — as  a 
reward  for  hard  work  in  our  mornings." 

"  Ah,  the  wise  child !  Already  she  has  mastered 
the  discipline  and  the  austerity  that  true  life  requires. 
I  am  to  wait,  then,  for  my  reward." 

All  this  time  he  had  held  her  hand.  She  felt  an  irri- 
tation, and,  unusual  self-conquest  in  her,  summoned 
a  smile  to  hide  it.  "  We  are  both  to  wait.  Good-bye, 
then." 

"  At  ten  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  At  ten."  She  stepped  inside  the  gate  and  closed 
it,  and  he  turned  away  at  last,  looking  back  at  her  as 
he  doffed  his  hat. 

In  the  passage,  when  she  had  entered  the  pension, 
old  Lady  Frere  met  her  and  looked  at  her  with  sleepy 
disapprobation. 

Mrs.  Fennamy,  in  their  sitting-room,  made  no  pre- 
tence of  not  having  witnessed  the  long-drawn  part- 
ing. It  was  one  of  the  most  comfortable  things  about 
her  that,  tactful  to  the  bone  as  her  daughter  had  al- 

107 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ways  found  her,  she  never  affected  tact.  And  now, 
turning  from  the  window,  she  did  not  pretend  to  con- 
ceal her  surprise.  "You  have  had  an  afternoon  of 
it !  "  she  said.  "  It 's  almost  seven !  " 

"  We  have  not  been  far,"  said  Persis,  "  only  up  to 
the  woods,  where  we  have  been  sitting.  But,  yes  we 
have  been  talking  for  hours.  Herr  Wehlitz  has  been 
talking,  rather." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  wear  him  out,  the  way  he 
talks,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy,  pushing  aside  her  work  for 
the  lamp,  which  the  maid  brought  in,  "  and  you  look 
pretty  tired." 

Persis  owned  that  she  was  tired. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WEHLITZ,  however,  did  not  appear  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour  next  morning.  It  was  little 
Herr  Sachs  who,  alone,  at  ten  o'clock  came  tapping 
down  the  street.  A  fine  rain  was  falling ;  so  that  Per- 
sis  had  put  her  books  in  readiness  in  the  sitting-room ; 
and  from  the  window  she  watched  the  young  man  ap- 
proach, with  some  wonder  and  with  some  chagrin. 
She  had  completely  recovered  from  her  fatigue  and 
was  eager  for  fresh  flights. 

Herr  Sachs  entered  shyly  and  awkwardly.  He 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  his  hat;  or  with  his 
hands;  and  after  seating  himself  at  her  bidding,  he 
shuffled  his  feet  about  and  told  her  that  Wehlitz  was 
not  well.  He  had  sat  up  till  late  the  night  before 
composing;  yes,  he  sometimes  composed  music;  did 
the  Fraulein  not  know?  And  this  was  for  her;  Lud- 
wig  had  written  it  for  her.  Sachs  held  out  to  her  the 
long  roll  of  MS.  he  had  brought  with  him,  "  And  he 
asks  that  you  will  play  it  through  so  that  I  may  tell 
him  if  you  like  it." 

Persis  unrolled  the  music.  At  the  head  of  the  first 
page  stood  "Flight  of  the  Bird."  She  was  pleased; 
touched ;  and  the  colour  rose  to  her  cheeks. 

"  But  is  he  ill?  "  she  asked,  after  looking  in  silence 
109 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

for  some  moments  through  the  tribute  thus  laid  before 
her,  and  glancing  down  at  the  little  cripple  who,  on 
the  edge  of  his  chair,  turned  his  hat  round  and  round. 
"  Or  is  it  over- fatigue  ?  I  was  afraid  yesterday  that 
he  was  very  tired." 

"Yes,  he  was  tired;  and  it  was  also  the  late  hour 
last  night,  Fraulein.  He  sat  till  twelve  at  his  piano, 
and  then  would  not  be  satisfied  until  all  was  written 
out.  It  was  three  before  he  went  to  bed.  This  morn- 
ing he  woke  with  a  bad  headache.  He  often  has  these 
neuralgic  headaches,  and  he  cannot  use  his  eyes  next 
day.  They  affect  his  eyesight." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  Persis  murmured,  moving  to  the 
piano;  but  she  was  not  thinking  of  Wehlitz's  indis- 
position; she  was  absorbed  in  the  thought  of  the 
tribute.  She  sat  down  and  played. 

The  piece  was  very  difficult,  written  with  a  curious, 
complicated  vigour;  but  she  read  with  facility,  and 
on  a  second  playing  the  music  was  all  revealed.  The 
expression  was  inadequate  to  the  intention.  She 
recognized  the  intention — tragic  joy,  tragic  freedom, 
poised  on  nothingness.  The  music  escaped  pedantry 
through  its  vehemence,  but  it  did  not  achieve  beauty. 
A  painful  simile  came  to  her  of  a  bird  shot,  and  falling 
with  abrupt,  desperate  strokes  of  the  wings.  Her 
own  conception  seemed  blurred  by  this  interpretation 
of  it  and  for  some  moments  after  she  had  finished  she 
sat  rather  disappointedly  glancing  over  the  pages,  for- 
getting the  young  man  who  sat  behind  her.  Then, 
remembering,  she  turned  to  look  at  him. 

no 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

She  had  not  really  looked  at  Herr  Sachs  before. 
He  had  emerged  from  his  embarrassment  while  she 
played,  and  now,  as  his  eyes  met  hers,  the  ugliness  and 
oddity  of  his  face  stamped  itself  upon  her  mind.  It 
made  her  think,  freakishly,  of  a  wooden  trencher, 
broad,  clumsy,  plebeian,  and  carved  with  quaint  Ger- 
manic antiquities;  or  of  the  fiddler's  face  in  some  old 
carousing  picture;  or  else — and  the  analogy  came  as 
easily — of  the  devout  face  of  a  burgher  donor  in  a 
Memling  triptych,  kneeling  in  the  corner,  and  looking 
up,  with  hands  folded,  at  the  enthroned  Madonna. 
Very  singularly  ugly  it  was,  with  its  stiff  ungainly 
hair,  spatulate  nose,  large  mouth  awry  and  small  eyes 
that  twinkled — was  it  in  mirth  or  in  pain? — or  that 
became  fixed,  clear,  observant  as  now ;  eyes  sunken  be- 
tween lids  slightly  swollen  and  suggesting  sleepless- 
ness or  tears.  While  she  thus  looked  at  him  these 
eyes  had  become  questioning,  and  they  brought  her 
mind  back  to  the  music  and  its  composer.  "  I  only 
wish  that  Ludwig  had  not  made  himself  ill  in  writing 
it,"  she  said. 

"  He  felt  that  he  must  put  it  down  while  it  was  so 
strongly  in  his  mind,  Fraulein.  I  may  tell  him  that 
you  are  pleased  with  it?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  I  must  tell  him 
myself,"  she  then  found.  "  I  shall  come  this  after- 
noon with  mamma  and  see  him." 

"  Ah,  he  will  be  very  happy  to  hear  that,"  said  Herr 
Sachs.  "  It  will  be  the  best  of  medicines  for  him. 
And  he  asked,  Fraulein,  if  it  will  not  be  too  much 

in 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

trouble  for  you,  that  you,  in  return  for  his  music, 
should  write  out  your  poem  for  him." 

"  Write  it  out  ?  "  Persis  smiled.  "  Certainly  I  will 
write  it — and  bring  it  to  him." 

"  No,  no ; "  Herr  Sachs  smiled  back,  encouraged, 
evidently,  by  her  kindness.  "  If  I  may  say  so — it  will 
give  Ludwig  more  pleasure  to  have  it  now;  there  are 
many  hours  to  pass  before  the  afternoon  and  he  can 
read  your  poem  over.  He  is  waiting  for  it.  And 
he  promised  me,"  the  young  man  added,  "that  if 
you  were  willing,  I  should  see  it  too.  You  will  al- 
low that,  Fraulein?  I  have  heard  the  music,  you 
know." 

"  But,  of  course,  I  allow  it,"  Persis  said,  still  smil- 
ing and  pleased  with  Herr  Sachs.  "  It  will  not  bear 
much  reading,  I  warn  you.  My  poems,  'if  you  can 
call  them  that,  are  really  improvisations,  to  be  re- 
cited— and  then  forgotten.  But,  of  course,  if  you 
would  like  to  see  it " 

She  drew  the  ink-stand  towards  her  and  took  up  a 
pen. 

She  had  but  just  finished  writing  when  the  door 
bell  sounded  again,  and  the  round-cheeked  little  ser- 
vant, wiping  her  arms  on  her  blue  apron,  ushered  in 
Graf  von  Liidenstein. 

Large,  blond,  well-dressed,  exhaling  a  fragrance 
of  good  tobacco  and  eau-de-Cologne,  he  stood  there 
smiling,  hat  and  stick  in  hand,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Persis 
who,  looking  up  from  her  paper,  hesitated  in  a  mo- 
ment of  surprise  before  rising  to  meet  him. 

112 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  At  last  I  find  you,  Fraulein,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
been  wondering  when  I  should  see  you  again,  since 
Ludwig  has  banished  me  from  the  metaphysical  sym- 
posiums." 

"  Did  Ludwig  banish  you  ?  "  Persis  asked.  "  Les- 
sons are  better,  it  is  true,  in  tete-a-tete.  They  are 
lessons,  not  symposiums  now,  you  know." 

"Yes;  he  has  banished  us,  both  of  us,  has  he  not, 
Sachs? — And  he  was  right  and  you  are  right;  every- 
thing is  better  in  tete-a-tete — except  the  things  that 
bore  us;  they,  by  diffusion,  become  less  wearisome. 
Ah,  you  are  a  musician,  Fraulein?  I  did  not  know 
that.  What  have  we  here  ? "  He  leaned  down  to 
peer  with  short-sighted  eyes  at  the  music.  " '  Flight 
of  the  Bird.'  Is  it  your  inspiration?" 

"  Herr  Wehlitz  sent  it  to  me,"  said  Persis.  Graf 
von  Liidenstein  made  her  feel  vaguely  shy,  or,  rather, 
vaguely  at  a  loss.  "  It  is  very  interesting." 

"  Oh !  One  of  Ludwig's  compositions.  Yes ;  I  see 
now  that  it  is  his  hand.  Interesting  ?  They  are  some- 
times that;  seldom  more.  You  permit,  Fraulein?  I, 
also,  am  passionately  devoted  to  music."  He  had  laid 
his  hat  on  the  piano,  his  stick  and  gloves  beside  it,  and 
seating  himself  ran  his  thick,  white  hands  with  a  mas- 
terly competence  over  the  keys. 

Persis  had  flushed  a  little  and,  as  Ludenstein  thus 
took  possession  of  Ludwig's  tribute  to  her,  she  glanced 
over  at  Herr  Sachs,  whose  eyes,  she  thought,  met  hers 
gravely.  Her  poem  was  lying  in  full  view  on  the 
table  and  folding  the  paper  she  handed  it  to  him  with 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

a  certain  answering  gravity  that  would  convey  to  him 
her  discrimination;  Graf  von  Ludenstein  might  take 
possession  of  the  tribute;  he  should  not  see  what 
had  inspired  it.  Sachs  bowed  his  head  as  he  took 
the  paper  from  her  and  put  it  carefully  in  his  coat 
pocket. 

Persis  now  could  listen  to  Graf  von  Ludenstein. 
He  was  playing  with  splendour,  a  splendour  that  em- 
phasized the  inadequacy  of  Ludwig's  composition. 
When  he  had  finished  he  turned  on  the  stool  and 
looked  smiling  at  Persis.  "  You  find  it  interesting  ? 
No.  It  is  not  good.  It  is  from  friendship  you 
speak." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Persis,  with  some  haughtiness  of 
mien.  "  I  find  it  very  interesting." 

"So;  'Flight  of  the  Bird'";  Ludenstein  looked 
back  at  the  music ;  "  not  for  one  yard  does  the  bird 
fly.  It  is  strange,  Ludwig  being  such  a  rebel,  that  his 
music  should  be  so  unoriginal  and  platitudinous;  and 
thin;  and  laboured."  He  struck  out  a  phrase  here 
and  there. 

"  I  would  rather  you  did  not  dissect  it,"  said  Persis. 
She  rose  and  gave  effect  to  her  wish  by  lifting  the 
music  from  the  rack.  Liidenstein's  glance  expressed 
amusement  and  admiration. 

"  You  are  a  devoted  friend,  Fraulein  Fennamy. 
That  is  well;  very  well;  I,  too,  am  a  devoted  friend 
and,  if  not  so  prejudiced,  I  can  yet  be  glad  to  see 
that  you  are  so.  I  may  not,  then,  play  Ludwig  to 
you;  but  may  I  play  something  else — something  that 

114 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

we  both  find  interesting.     For  you  are,  I  feel  sure, 
fond  of  music." 

His  unruffled  composure  made  her  feel  a  little  ri- 
diculous. Murmuring  that  it  would  be  delightful  to 
hear  him,  she  took  her  seat  again,  holding  Ludwig's 
recovered  composition.  And  looking  across  at  Herr 
Sachs,  so  still,  so  silent,  in  his  chair,  she  was  restored ; 
for  she  saw  that  he  was  pleased  that  she  should  have 
rescued  Ludwig. 

But  now  she  must  listen  as  she  had  not  listened  be- 
fore. Liidenstein  was  playing  a  Brahms  Rhapsodie 
and  it  was  long  since  she  had  heard  such  music.  It 
mounted  in  her  like  a  rising  fountain  of  exquisite 
expectancy;  it  brimmed  her  with  delight  and  waves 
of  blissful  sadness  broke  over  her.  She  was  bathed, 
possessed  by  the  magic  that  eluded  her  and  saw  it  as 
an  Eros,  bending  to  his  Psyche  in  the  darkness,  splen- 
did and  invisible.  Under  the  happy  tumult  of  her 
obliterated  yet  heightened  self,  words  and  rhythms 
wreathed  themselves. 

Ludenstein,  when  he  turned  to  her,  found  an  un- 
seeing gaze  dwelling  upon  him  and  he  was  aware  of 
the  presence  of  creative  power  in  the  young  girl,  the 
artist's  mastery  of  what  has  mastered  him. 

She  hardly  smiled  her  thanks,  sitting  there  in  the 
attitude  habitual  to  her,  with  folded  arms  and  head  a 
little  bent  so  that  her  pale,  cold  eyes  looked  up  from 
under  brooding  brows.  He  examined  her,  almost 
with  an  impersonal  interest.  "  I  see  that  you  are  one 
of  those  who  care  for  music,"  he  said. 

"5 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Persis  emerged  from  her  visions  to  consciousness  of 
their  evoker.  She  could  not  see  Graf  von  Liiden- 
stein  again  with  quite  such  alien  eyes. 

"Yes;  I  care  very  much  for  it,"  she  said.  "I 
hardly  play  at  all  myself.  I  studied  very  assiduously 
at  one  time  but  I  found  that  to  do  what  I  should  wish 
to  do  would  take  too  much  of  my  life.  And  I  could 
find  what  I  wanted  in  other  people's  playing;  in  play- 
ing like  yours.  Will  you  come  and  play  to  me  some- 
times?" 

"  As  often  as  you  will  let  me — as  often  as  you  will 
let  me,"  said  Liidenstein. 

It  was  as  if  they  had  forgotten  Herr  Sachs.  He 
rose  now  from  his  chair.  "  I  am  to  tell  Ludwig  that 
you  will  come  at  four,  Fraulein  ?  " 

She  was  sorry  that  he  was  going.  She  felt  that  she 
would  like  him  to  sit  there,  while  Graf  von  Liidenstein 
played  to  them,  for  hours.  "  Must  you  go  ? "  she 
said ;  "  yes ;  I  will  come  at  four." 

"  I  must  go ;  I  thank  you,  Fraulein.  I  promised 
Ludwig  to  be  back." 

"That  is  a  singular  little  personage,"  said  Liiden- 
stein when  Sachs  had  gone  and  they  had  heard  the 
front  door  close  upon  him.  Leaving  the  piano  as  he 
spoke  he  came  and  leaned  against  the  mantelshelf, 
looking  down  at  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  Persis  rather  absently.  "  He  has  a 
wonderful  devotion  to  Herr  Wehlitz." 

"  Wonderful  ?  I  do  not  know  about  that.  We 
are  all  devoted  to  Ludwig,  are  we  not?  those  of  us 

116 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

whom  he  does  not  strike  from  him.  There  are  few  of 
us  left,  I  confess." 

"  One  can't  imagine  anyone  wishing  to  strike  Herr 
Sachs  away." 

"  One  cannot  imagine  it  and  it  may,  indeed,  not 
befall  him.  He  is  safer  in  being  outside  the  circle  of 
intellectual  interests.  He  fills  the  post  of  court  dwarf 
and  jester,  one  of  the  misshapen  creatures,  merry, 
sagacious  and  melancholy,  whom  we  read  of  in  Shake- 
speare or  see  on  a  Velasquez  canvas;  licensed  clowns 
who  contrive  to  amuse  their  masters  while  instilling 
sometimes  a  wisdom  that  equals  would  not  dare  im- 
part. Liberties  are  allowable  from  those  beneath  us. 
You  are  reading  much  of  our  Ludwig,  Fraulein  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  a  great  deal ;  the  earlier  books.  What  I 
most  want  to  read  is  the  prose  poem.  It  is  to  come 
out  very  soon  now,  he  says." 

"A  very  great  poet,  our  Ludwig,  and  poet  rather 
than  thinker.  That  is  his  tragedy;  he  can  infect,  he 
cannot  prove ;  and  he  wishes  to  prove." 

"  I  shall  understand  him,  I  think,"  said  Persis. 
She  sat  beneath  Graf  von  Ludenstein  on  her  sofa  and 
she  had,  while  they  talked,  a  very  singular  feeling. 
The  meaning  between  them  was  not  the  meaning  of 
their  words.  It  was  embodied  in  the  large,  blond 
presence  of  the  man  who  stood  at  the  mantelpiece 
looking  down  at  her.  He  was  full  of  some  ambiguous 
power  and  she  felt  in  herself  an  answering  and  resist- 
ent  power  and  rejoiced,  though  with  a  sort  of  fear,  in 
her  awareness  of  him.  It  made  her  think  of  a  time  at 

117 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Scheveningen  when  she  had  bathed  in  a  stormy  sea, 
diving  with  dread  delight,  through  each  great  foaming 
breaker  as  it  advanced  and  swimming,  in  an  ecstasy  of 
insecurity,  towards  the  next.  How  frightened  her 
mother  had  been! — standing  calling  on  the  beach,  her 
words  blown  away  like  bubbles  by  the  gale.  She  did 
not  like  Graf  von  Liidenstein,  yet  she  rejoiced  in 
his  presence ;  and  in  the  long  silence  that  now  grew — 
it  was  in  the  silences  that  the  meaning  towered — she 
saw  the  immense  breaker  advancing,  its  translucent 
wall  rising  between  her  and  the  sky,  laced  with  ribbons 
of  foam.  Meeting  his  eyes  calmly  she  felt  that  she 
struck  into  it,  passed  through  it,  and  emerged,  smiling, 
triumphant. 

"  You  are  fond  of  understanding  people,"  Luden- 
stein  remarked  after  this  potent  silence.  "  I  see  that. 
And  yes,  you  will  understand  Ludwig  soon;  better 
than  he  understands  himself.  And  let  me  give  you 
a  word  of  friendly  warning,  Fraulein — it  is  for  his  sake 
that  I  venture  on  it — do  not,  when  you  understand 
him,  let  him  see  that  you  do  so.  His  is  the  child's 
instinctive  genius  with  the  man's  brain;  but  he  has 
also  the  child's  susceptibility  to  criticism.  So  be  a 
true  friend  to  Ludwig  and  do  not  let  him  quarrel  with 
you." 

"Do  you  never  let  him  see  that  you  understand 
him?"  she  asked. 

"  Never.  When  he  deceives  himself  I  keep  silence. 
When  I  do  not  agree  I  keep  silence;  an  acquiescent 
and  not  a  provocative  silence." 

118 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  You  seem  to  value  his  friendship  more  than  your 
own  integrity,"  she  observed  dryly. 

Ludenstein  smiled.  "  My  integrity,  my  dear  young 
lady,  rests  on  the  foundation  of  my  own  tastes  and 
wishes,  and  on  no  small  moral  formulas.  I  am,  in  this, 
of  Ludwig's  way  of  thinking.  You  will  find  indeed, 
that  I  am  Ludwig's  sole  disciple  and  that  I  practise 
what  he  only  preaches.  I  am  fond  of  Ludwig.  I 
find  him  of  value.  I  guard  him  from  himself,  lest  a 
valuable  and  fragile  object  should  be  broken,  and  this, 
often,  can  be  secured  only  by  sacrificing  strict  veracity. 
I  advise  you  to  imitate  me." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  should  care  to  take  so  much 
trouble.  My  wish  and  taste  is  for  veracity." 

"  What?  You  have,  then,  no  affection  for  Ludwig? 
Do  not  think  that  you  can  change  him.  You  will 
only  break  and  bruise  him  if  you  do  not  indulgently 
adapt  the  truth  to  him." 

"  Certainly  I  have  affection  for  him."  He  was  con- 
fusing her  a  little. 

"  It  is  more  trouble,  then,  let  me  assure  you,  to 
quarrel  with  those  we  care  for  than  to  indulge  them." 

"  You  do  not  convince  me  that  I  shall  have  to 
choose  between  your  alternatives." 

"  Ah ;  you  are  a  remarkable  young  woman,  you 
would  say,  and  it  is  true  that  you  may  be  able  to 
keep  Ludwig's  friendship  on  your  own  terms.  But 
if  you  succeed  in  that  you  will  be  the  first  of  his  friends 
who  has  done  so.  With  all  my  heart  I  wish  you  suc- 
cess." They  spoke  of  Ludwig  and  of  her  friendship 

119 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

for  Ludwig;  but  it  was  not  of  Ludwig  that  his  eyes 
spoke  to  her,  as,  intent  and  sleepy,  they  rested  upon 
her  with  the  force  of  a  physical  weight. 

On  her  sofa,  her  attitude  unchanged,  she  looked 
up  at  him  from  under  her  bent  brows  and  slightly 
smiled,  testing  in  the  smile  her  own  resisting  strength. 
"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  yet 
quite  perceptible  mockery.  "  Why  are  you  so  solici- 
tous on  my  account,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  kindness  is  for  Ludwig — not  for  you, 
Fraulein,"  said  Liidenstein  laughing.  "  I  have  no 
kindness  for  you." 

This  was  indeed,  an  unexpected  whirl  of  the  waters. 
She  felt  herself  striking  out  blindly  and  knew  that  she 
showed  the  discomfiture  of  a  child  rebuked.  "  I 
thought  you  had,"  she  heard  herself  saying,  lamely, 
and  she  hated  herself  and  him  for  her  helplessness. 

"  Not  at  all,"  Liidenstein  continued  to  laugh.  "  It 
is  all  for  Ludwig,  my  kindness.  I  am  Ludwig's  friend, 
not  yours.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  your  friend." 

She  knew  that  the  colour  had  rushed  to  her  cheeks. 
She  dropped  her  eyes  and  felt  the  tears  of  anger  and 
embarrassment  brim  them,  while  he  stood  there  leis- 
urely watchful  of  her  awkwardness.  But  when  he 
spoke  again  it  was  with  a  change  of  tone  that  made 
her  look  quickly  up  at  him. 

"No,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes,  meeting  hers,  nar- 
rowed themselves  as  he  watched  the  effect  of  his  words 
upon  her.  "  No ;  I  hope  for  something  more  interest- 
ing than  friendship  with  you,  Fraulein.  Antagonism 

120 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

and  curiosity  and  delight  are  too  strongly  present  be- 
tween a  man  and  woman,  when  one  is  young  and  beau- 
tiful and  the  other  neither  a  dreamer  nor  a  child, 
for  anything  like  friendship  to  be  in  question.  Be 
friends,  good  friends  with  Ludwig;  that  is  what  I  ask 
of  you.  But  with  me  I  hope  that  you  will  often 
quarrel,  and  as  far  as  it  lies  with  me  I  promise  you 
that  our  quarrels  will  never  part  us." 

Through  this  speech,  made  with  the  greatest  de- 
liberation, she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  him,  but  she 
knew  that  the  waters  had  indeed  closed  over  her 
head.  She  heard  herself  saying  at  last — she  feared 
it  was  ridiculously — "  Oh  thank  you — but  I  have  no 
intention  of  quarrelling  with  you — at  any  time.  I 
don't  care  for  quarrels — except  with  friends." 

"  Perhaps  this  is  our  first,"  Liidenstein  suggested, 
smiling  upon  her  almost  paternally. 

She  had  risen  and  stood,  her  eyes  dwelling  on  him, 
not  shy  and  not  indignant — it  was  only  astonishment 
she  could  feel  as  yet  and  a  deep  uncertainty  as  to  his 
meaning. 

"  Is  Madame  Fennamy  in,  Fraulein  ?  "  he  now  con- 
tinued. "  I  hope  that  I  may  see  her  also.  I  shall 
be  very  glad  to  pay  her  my  respects." 

"  Yes ;  she  is  in,"  said  Persis.  Was  he  releasing 
her  after  his  experiments?  Had  he  been  teasing  her? 
Was  it  possible  that  he  was  trying  to  make  love  to 
her?  "I  will  ask  her  if  she  can  see  you,"  she  said. 
She  hoped  that  her  swift  retreat  had  not  the  appear- 
ance of  flight. 

121 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Indignation  came  fully  as  she  mounted  the  stairs 
to  her  mother's  room,  but  an  impulse  of  secrecy  came 
with  it  and — what  were  the  words  he  had  used? — 
antagonism — curiosity — delight.  She  did  not  fear 
him.  She  had  been  confused,  that  was  true,  and  dis- 
concerted; but  she  did  not  fear  him  and,  if  he  were  an 
unprincipled  man,  she  would  show  him  that  she  was 
not  the  silly  child  he  took  her  for.  "  Mamma,"  she 
said,  entering  her  mother's  room,  "  Graf  von  Liiden- 
stein  is  downstairs  and  hopes  to  see  you.  I  have  my 
work  to  do  this  morning,  for  Ludwig,  will  you  tell 
him  so?  so  that  I  cannot  give  him  more  of  my  time." 


CHAPTER  X 

MRS.  FENNAMY,  when  she  and  Persis  met  at 
luncheon,  made  no  comment  upon  her  visitor. 
It  was  as  they  were  walking  that  afternoon  to 
Wehlitz's  hotel  that  she  remarked :  "  I  don't  like  Graf 
von  Liidenstein,  Persis,  one  bit ;  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  like  him,"  said  Persis.  "  But 
he  is  an  interesting  man." 

"Is  he  interesting?  He  is  clever,  I  suppose,  but 
not  as  clever  as  he  thinks.  It  isn't  clever  to  think 
other  people  are  more  stupid  than  they  are.  He  was 
very  polite  this  morning,  but  I  saw  perfectly  well  that 
he  was  laughing  at  me  all  the  time  and  he  thought 
I  did  n't  see  it.  And  he  has  a  way  of  looking  at  you 
as  if  you  had  a  smut  on  your  nose  but  he  was  n't  going 
to  embarrass  you  by  telling  you  so.  I  hope  he  's  not 
coming  often." 

"  Well,  as  to  often,  I  should  n't  care  for  that,'*  said 
Persis.  "  But  he  plays  exceedingly  well  and  I  shall 
enjoy  hearing  his  music  from  time  to  time."  Her 
mother's  shrewdness  amused  her  and,  having  by  now 
completely  recovered  her  poise,  she  could  feel  how 
immature  beside  herself  this  unsuspecting  mother  was. 
With  all  her  knowledge  of  the  depravities  of  the  Eu- 
rope where  she  had  spent  so  many  years,  she  was  still 

123 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

at  heart,  if  not  as  ignorant,  yet  quite  as  guileless  as 
when  she  had  left  Ashleyville.  Queer  experiences 
might  befall  the  queer  people  one  met  or  the  still 
queerer  people  of  whom  one  read  in  novels;  but  that 
her  own  daughter  should  find  herself  in  the  midst  of 
such  a  one,  neither  accepting  nor  avoiding  it,  scrutiniz- 
ing it,  rather,  with  an  intellectual  enjoyment,  was  not 
a  supposition  that  could,  so  Persis  conceived,  cross 
her  orderly  little  mind. 

Herr  Wehlitz's  hotel  was  a  small  cheerful  place  with 
terraces  about  it  on  which,  under  awnings,  tables  were 
set  out  and  bay-trees  stood  ranged  in  tubs. 

They  were  met  in  the  hall  by  Eleanora  who,  evi- 
dently, had  been  watching  for  them  from  the  window. 
"  Ah ! — this  will  be  the  medicine  he  needs !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  He  has  been  so  ill ! — in  such  blinding  pain, 
my  poor  Ludwig!  And  already  he  was  beginning 
to  toss  and  stare  at  the  clock  and  to  mutter  that 
you  were  late! — This  way,  Annetta,  this  way,  my 
child." 

"  But  we  are  not  late,"  Persis  observed.  "  The 
clock,  you  hear,  is  just  striking  the  hour." 

"  Ah — it  has  been  no  ordinary  impatience  that  has 
awaited  you,"  Eleanora  murmured  as  she  led  them 
upstairs  and  along  the  passage  to  Wehlitz's  sitting- 
room. 

He  lay  on  the  sofa,  and  his  eyes,  as  they  entered, 
seized  upon  Persis.  "You  have  come,"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

He  greeted  Mrs.  Fennamy,  even  at  this  moment 

124 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

his  punctilious  courtesy  not  failing  him;  then,  taking 
Persis  by  the  hand,  he  drew  her  to  a  seat  beside  him 
and  gazed  at  her  with  feverish  exaltation. 

Persis  was  taken  aback  by  the  fervour  of  her  recep- 
tion. Their  intimacy  seemed  to  have  made  immense 
strides  since  yesterday.  Herr  Sachs  was  in  the  room, 
but  Wehlitz  had  so  taken  possession  of  her  that  she 
could  only  cast  a  glance  of  greeting  upon  the  young 
man  and  observe  that  Eleanora  had  drawn  her  mother, 
with  him,  to  the  window  and  had  engaged  them  in  an 
animated  conversation. 

"  Tell  me,"  Wehlitz  said,  clasping  his  hands  behind 
his  head  and  looking  at  her  with  bright,  joyous  eyes, 
"  you  cared  for  my  music  ?  Much  ?  Conrad  said 
that  you  yourself  would  tell  me  how  much.  He  told 
you  that  my  night  had  been  passed  with  it.  It  was 
the  dedication  of  our  union." 

She  was  already  accustomed  to  feeling  that  he  at 
once  touched  and  amused  her.  His  gaze  so  much 
touched  her  now  that  she  felt  it  true  to  say :  "  It 
told  me  everything  you  wished  it  to  tell  me.  It  was 
the  most  beautiful  present  I  ever  had." 

"  Ah,  I  knew — I  knew  that  you  cared  for  music. 
We  could  not  be  apart  in  that.  Not  that  I  mislead 
myself,  Persis.  I  am  not  a  great  musician,  though  I 
had  dreams  of  that  flight.  Yet  great  ones  have  cared 
for  my  works." 

"  I  must  hear  them  all  some  day." 

"  Soon,  yes,  soon.  And  there  are  to  be  so  many 
days  for  us." 

125 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"Are  you  here  for  long,"  she  asked,  a  little — and 
not  for  the  first  time — at  a  loss. 

His  eyes  dwelt  on  her.  "You  ask?  I  am  here 
for  as  long  as  you  are." 

"  We  had  thought  of  passing  the  winter  in  Paris." 

"  In  Paris.     It  is  well." 

She  looked  at  him  in  perplexity.  Did  he  intend  to 
follow  them  to  Paris  ?  Wehlitz  turned  from  the  ques- 
tion of  these  practical  adjustments.  "  And  your  poem, 
Persis,"  he  said,  "  and  written  in  your  beautiful  hand — 
a  hand  that  floats  and  soars  with  your  thought.  I 
have  wept  over  it.  Conrad,  too,  has  seen  it;  but 
he  is  a  sorry  fellow,  our  Conrad;  he  would  not  take 
it  seriously.  He  rallied  me  when  I  wept." 

"Would  not  take  it  seriously?"  Persis  repeated 
with  some  austerity.  The  young  man  sat  near  the 
window  listening  to  the  talk  of  the  two  ladies  in  an 
attitude  of  attention,  a  hand  upon  each  knee.  His  eyes 
turned  now  on  Persis  and  his  friend,  and  it  was  evident 
that  he  had  heard  her  exclamation. 

"Ah,  he  saw  its  beauty;  but  he  could  not  under- 
stand that  a  soul  could  be  at  once  so  young  and  so 
profound.  He  does  not  understand  that  a  young 
soul  may  taste  in  presage  and  through  intuition  all 
the  tragedy  of  life.  No,  no,  he  laughed  at  me  and 
said  that  as  a  pretty  young  lady  you  had  no  right  to 
make  such  poems.  He  spoke  of  you  as  if  you  had 
been  a  canary  in  its  golden  cage.  Aha !  You  hear  us, 
Conrad.  Well,  is  it  not  true  what  I  say?  " 

Herr  Sachs  was  looking  extremely  discomposed,  and 

126 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Wehlitz,  whose  eyes  had  followed  Persis's,  watched 
him  with  an  expression  half  resentful  and  half  affec- 
tionately malicious.  "  Aha !  "  he  said,  shaking  a  fore- 
finger at  him,  "  see  him  change  colour !  Do  you  dare 
to  look  the  young  falcon  in  the  eye,  you  jackanapes, 
and  talk  to  her  of  canaries?  " 

Very  red  indeed,  Herr  Sachs  stumbled  up  out  of 
his  chair  and  came  to  stand  before  them,  leaning  there 
on  his  crutch  and  turning  his  eyes  from  one  to  the 
other.  "  It  is  you  who  are  the  jackanapes,  Ludwig," 
he  retorted,  and  though  not  ill-temperedly  it  was  with 
a  certain  vehemence.  "  I  have  said  nothing  of 
canaries." 

"  Aha !  "  Wehlitz  repeated,  laughing  like  a  malicious 
boy,  "  he  is  dumb-founded,  our  Conrad.  You  said 
nothing  of  canaries?  Very  well.  But  who  was  it, 
then,  who  spoke  of  Schw'drmerei — of  the  Schwdrmerei 
of  the  young  heart,  ignorant  of  itself  and  of  life. 
Yes !  it  is  well  that  he  should  be  betrayed  to  the  falcon ! 
such  irreverence  deserves  its  punishment ! " 

But  Persis  was  examining  the  young  man  with  more 
curiosity  than  displeasure.  "  Do  you  think,  then,  that 
because  one  is  young  all  that  one  feels  of  suffering 
is  self-deception  and  froth?"  she  inquired  while 
Wehlitz,  intently  watching  her,  took  an  evident  delight 
in  the  high  serenity  of  the  gaze  she  lifted  to  the  young 
man. 

"Oh,  no,  oh  no!  Fraulein,  I  did  not  mean  that," 
Sachs  stammered,  smiling  at  her,  however,  with  the 
recovery  of  composure  that  seemed  to  come  quickly 

127 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

to  his  rescue.  "  And  let  me  assure  you  that  no 
thought  of  canaries  could  have  entered  my  mind. — 
Du  boser  Kerl! "  he  cast  at  Wehlitz.  "  It  was  in  no 
sense  your  poem  that  I  criticised,  for  I,  too,  thought  it 
very  deeply  true;  all  that  I  said  to  Ludwig  was  that 
he  must  not  read  a  real  sorrow  into  your  words,  for 
though  the  young  can  suffer  very  keenly,  it  may  also 
be  that  they  are  intoxicated  with  the  mere  imagination 
of  sorrow;  is  it  not  so,  Fraulein?  You  must  know  it 
too,  how  one  reads  and  reads,  and  dreams  and  dreams, 
and  fills  one's  heart  and  brain  with  visions;  and  for 
the  young  there  is  pleasure,  deep  pleasure,  in  the  sad- 
ness and  the  tears.  Do  I  not  know  it  ? "  Sachs 
added  with  his  infectious  grimace.  "  Have  I  not 
spent  many  nights  gazing  at  the  moon  while  the  tear 
dripped  down ! " 

Persis  was  not  able  to  restrain  a  smile.  "  You  im- 
pute to  me  an  experience  I  have  not  shared,"  she  ob- 
served, and  her  demeanour  was  that  of  the  young 
queen  who  bandies  deep  themes  playfully  with  a  fa- 
voured jester.  "  There  are  no  tears  in  my  poem.  I 
have  never  looked  at  the  moon  while  the  tears  dripped 
down.  I  do  not,  indeed,  remember  ever  having  cried 
in  all  my  life." 

" Mein  Gott,  Fraulein!  what  are  you  saying!" 
Sachs  murmured,  and  now  with  only  a  semblance  of 
playfulness  to  veil  his  gravity.  "  You  have  never 
cried !  That  is  indeed  a  strange  thing ;  a  sadder  thing, 
it  seems  to  me,  than  you  can  know." 

Wehlitz's  gaze  was  lighted  with  triumph.  "Ah! 

128 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

You  did  not  understand  of  what  a  breed  is  my  young 
falcon,  Conrad.  Not  for  her  our  Germanic  sentimen- 
talities! Not  for  her  our  moon-gazing!  No!  She 
is  of  the  race  of  the  masters,  of  those  who  walk  proud 
and  tearless." 

Sachs  made  no  reply.  A  waiter  came  in  bearing 
on  his  shoulder  the  tray  of  coffee  and  cakes,  and  he 
rose  to  make  way  for  him. 

Eleanora  darted  forward,  insisting  that  Annetta 
should  do  the  honours  of  the  occasion.  "  You,  my 
dear  Ludwig,  are  not  fit  to  sit  up,"  she  cried.  Mrs. 
Fennamy  could  read  in  her  old  friend's  brooding, 
excited  gaze  her  satisfaction  in  the  air  of  intimacy, 
of  unity,  implied  in  this.  To  see  Annetta  sitting  there 
at  Ludwig's  board,  dispensing  Ludwig's  fare,  was  al- 
most to  see  her  blessing  a  compact. 

"  We  lack  only  Liidenstein,"  Wehlitz  observed  when 
the  table  was  drawn  near  his  couch  and  the  coffee  was 
being  poured  out  He  had  still  his  air  of  child-like 
gaiety. 

Conrad's  discomfiture,  for  so  he  read  it,  had  com- 
pleted his  felicity.  Once  or  twice,  while  the  table 
was  being  adjusted,  he  had  murmured  under  his 
breath:  "There  are  no  tears!"  Now,  if  an  alien 
memory  came,  it  came  with  hardly  a  shadow.  "  We 
lack  Liidenstein,"  he  said,  looking  genially  around  the 
board.  "  But  I  do  not  think  we  shall  greatly  miss 
him,  eh?  He  is  too  sophisticated  a  person  for  these 
simple  gatherings,  and  neither  Eleanora  nor  Conrad 
cherishes  him.  Conrad  tells  me  that  he  played  to 

129 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

you  this  morning,  Persis?  You  enjoyed  his  music? 
He  is  an  accomplished  musician  —  Ernst." 

His  eyes  were  on  her  and  a  certain  intentness  in  them 
fixed  her.  To  her  dismay  and  to  her  anger,  Persis 
felt  that,  suddenly,  beneath  this  gaze,  her  colour  rose. 
She  blushed  seldom  and  when  she  did  so,  the  clear, 
bright  carmine,  springing,  like  a  hot  flower  laid  on 
either  cheek,  told,  as  she  knew,  with  an  exaggerated 
significance.  She  called  an  added  calmness  to  her 
eyes  and  said,  yes,  Graf  von  Liidenstein  had  played 
to  them,  and  she  thought  him  an  admirable  musician. 

"Ah,  yes."  Wehlitz  sat  gazing  at  her.  "He 
played  to  you.  So  Conrad  told  me.  And  he  stayed 
long?  It  was  a  long  visit?  I  was  surprised  to  hear 
that  Ludenstein,  too,  counted  you  as  a  friend." 

"  Yes,  he  stayed  for  some  time."  She  spoke  coldly 
now,  while  the  hot  flower  glowed  and  she  was  furious 
and  miserable. 

Wehlitz  continued  to  look  at  her  fixedly  for  some 
more  moments  and  then,  setting  his  cup  of  coffee,  un- 
touched, upon  the  table,  he  lay  down  again,  turning 
his  back  upon  them. 

A  disastrous  silence  fell  upon  the  little  group.  Per- 
sis gazed  before  her,  her  colour  slowly  dying,  her  lips 
haughtily  serene.  Herr  Sachs  feigned  to  busy  him- 
self, unperturbedly,  with  the  sugar  and  tongs. 

Eleanora's  eyes  met  her  Annetta's  in  an  almost  des- 
perate supplication.  And  Annetta  nobly  came  to  the 
rescue. 

"  I  wish  I  'd  heard  him  play,"  she  said.  "  It  was 

130 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

rather  unfair  of  Persis  to  have  him  play  to  her  and 
then  turn  him  over  to  me  for  the  talking.  I  don't 
cherish  him,  either,  and  I  can't  say  I  enjoyed  it.  We 
talked  about  French  plays,  Persis,  and  acting.  It 
might  have  interested  you." 

"  Ah,  he  is  not  accustomed  to  being  left  in  the  lurch 
like  that ! "  Eleanora  breathed  forth  with  more  ap- 
parent gratitude  than  grace.  "  He  was  disconcerted, 
no  doubt,  by  the  withdrawal  of  half  his  audience." 

"  I  don't  exactly  consider  myself  the  lurch,"  Mrs. 
Fennamy  commented  with  a  benign  touch  of  playful- 
ness. "  But  I  suppose  he  did  think  Persis  would 
have  cared  to  stay  and  talk  to  him,  when  he  'd  done 
playing.  Yes;  do  let  me  give  you  some  fresh  coffee, 
Herr  Wehlitz,  coffee  is  so  horrid  when  it 's  the  least 
tepid." 

Wehlitz  had  again  turned  on  his  side  to  fix  his  eyes 
again  on  Persis  and  Mrs.  Fennamy's  adroitness  en- 
abled him  to  re-enter  the  circle  with  the  least  possible 
emphasis. 

His  restored  spirits  mounted  to  the  pitch  of  hilarity. 
He  loudly  laughed,  and  talked  with  volubility.  He 
discussed  French  acting  with  Mrs.  Fennamy  and 
Italian  with  Eleanora.  "But  of  them  all,"  he  cried, 
"  Conrad  is  the  best.  Yes,  you  did  not  know  that  we 
had  a  finished  comedian  with  us!  Give  us  the  dogs, 
Conrad!  the  fighting  dogs;  it  is  not  a  cruel  mimicry, 
Persis,  I  assure  you.  Frenzy  rather  than  pain;  their 
joy  transcends  their  tragedy!  Ha!  ha!  we  can  laugh 
at  our  most  solemn  truths,  Persis,  you  and  I.  No 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

tears  for  us!  There,  crouch  behind  the  table,  it  is 
better  when  one  does  not  see  you.  And  after  the 
dogs  give  us  the  pigs  battling  at  their  trough ! " 

Sachs  obediently  disappeared,  and  Persis  and  her 
mother,  whose  sense  of  humour  but  thinly  veined 
their  natures  and  ran  to  no  deep  ore,  sat,  more  aston- 
ished than  amused  at  the  immediate  outburst  of  fero- 
cious sounds.  Shrieks,  growls,  strangled  breaths,  one 
vizualised  the  combat;  the  teeth  buried  in  the  oppo- 
nent's hair,  the  snatching  jaws,  the  rearings  and  the 
falls.  And  after  the  tempest  came  the  retreat,  full  of 
dignity,  deliberation;  an  intermittent  thunder-roll  of 
dying  growls  suggested  the  stiff,  slow  trot  which  car- 
ried the  combattants  in  opposite  directions.  Wehlitz 
laughed  like  a  child ;  laughed  until  the  tears  ran  down. 
He  lay  back  against  his  cushions,  beating  applause  with 
a  clenched  fist  on  the  arm  of  his  sofa.  "  And  now 
the  pigs !  "  he  shouted,  "  The  pigs  that  feed  and  buffet 
one  another !  Admirable !  Inimitable,  Conrad !  " 

Sachs  placed  himself  behind  a  chair,  running  his 
fists  between  the  bars  to  simulate  the  lithe  and  eager 
snouts,  and  again  he  impersonated  as  accurately  these 
animals  as  they  gulped  and  squealed  and  grunted. 

"  Ah,  there  is  no  one  like  you,  Conrad,  no  one ! " 
Wehlitz  gasped,  fallen  back,  breathless,  among  his 
cushions.  "  It  is  a  miracle !  You  do  not  laugh,  Per- 
sis? You  are  too  amazed  to  laugh?" 

"  I  have  been  laughing,"  said  Persis,  gazing  at  the 
young  man  who,  red,  panting  and  dishevelled,  rose 
from  behind  his  chair. 

132 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"You  wonder  at  a  person  being  willing  to  make 
himself  so  ludicrous?  That  is  it.  But  it  is  Conrad's 
strength  that  he  does  not  object  to  making  himself 
ludicrous.  Eh,  Conrad?"  The  young  man,  how- 
ever, pulling  at  his  cuffs,  adjusting  his  collar  and  mop- 
ping his  forehead,  stood,  his  face  fallen  to  sobriety, 
looking  a  little  abashed. 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  think  of  that  at  all,"  said  Persis, 
still  examining  him.  "  But  it  was  disconcerting,  as 
well  as  comical,  as  if  one  saw  someone  metamorphosed 
suddenly  before  one's  eyes." 

"  And  now,"  said  Eleanora,  rising  with  buoyancy 
from  her  place,  "now  I  wish  to  show  you,  Annetta, 
a  most  beautiful  and  remarkable  arbuste  which  I  have 
found  in  the  garden  here.  You,  too,  Herr  Sachs,  must 
come  and  tell  us  what  it  is,  and  if  you  are  ignorant, 
know  that  we  are  more  so.  Come;  we  will  leave 
Ludwig  and  Persis  to  entertain  each  other  for  a  few 
moments." 

Through  this  patent  manoeuvre  Wehlitz  and  the 
young  girl  found  themselves  alone.  A  look  of  almost 
humble  supplication  at  once  clouded  his  face.  "  Ah, 
that  is  kind  of  Eleanora,"  he  murmured ;  "  she  always 
reads  my  heart.  I  hoped  for  a  word  with  you,  Persis. 
Tell  me,  you  are  not  seriously  displeased  with  me?." 

"  Not  seriously,  perhaps,"  said  Persis,  looking  at 
him  thoughtfully  if  with  no  severity. 

"  Forgive  me !  Forgive  me,  then !  "  said  Wehlitz, 
taking  her  hand,  which  she  yielded.  "  It  seemed  to 
me — let  me  tell  you  all — that  you  changed  colour  when 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

I  spoke  of  Ernst,  and  I  wondered  if  he  had  in  any 
way  displeased  you.  But  it  was  my  imagination. 
iYou  did  not  blush." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  her  young  face 
assumed  its  aspect  of  almost  sullen  pride.  "  On  the 
contrary,  I  did  blush,"  she  said. 

"  I  was  not  then  mistaken  ?  you  did  ?  "  Wehlitz 
paled  visibly. 

"You  know  quite  well  that  I  did,"  said  Persis, 
"and  you  know  quite  well  that  what  you  wondered 
was  not  whether  he  had  displeased  me,  but  whether 
he  had  pleased  me.  I  saw  your  jealousy,  and  it  was 
in  reply  to  that  that  my  colour  rose.  It  is  foolish 
in  me,  I  know;  but  it  is  because  I  am  young.  A 
glance,  a  word,  can  make  me  change  colour." 

For  a  long  moment  after  this  Wehlitz  lay  gazing  at 
her  as  if  bereft  of  all  resource.  Veils  of  shyness,  of 
pride,  of  pain,  seemed  to  drift  across  his  face  and, 
finally  to  pass,  leaving  him  helpless  before  his  blissful 
adoration.  "  And  you  still  forgive  me,  if  it  is  so  ?  " 
he  murmured.  "  You  are  true !  brave !  loyal !  my  bet- 
ter self!" 

Smiling,  with  a  little  uneasiness,  she  said.  "  Oh, 
but  now  you  idealise  me.  See,  I  am  blushing 
again." 

He  gazed  in  rapture  at  the  lovely  colour.  "And 
it  is  now  for  me.  Ah!  but  I  am  ashamed.  It  is  the 
truth;  you  read  me  like  a  book.  It  was  jealousy  of 
Ernst.  And  how  unfounded.  You  left  him,  when  he 
had  finished  playing  to  you.  You  left  him  to  your 

134 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

mother.  Ah,  the  good  lesson  for  Ernst,  with  his 
morning  calls  on  young  ladies." 

"  I  left  him  because  I  had  our  work  to  do,  yours 
and  mine.  But  I  might  have  cared  to  stay  and  talk. 
Why  not  ?  Why  should  he  not  come  and  see  me  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  why  not,  indeed ! "  Wehlitz  cried. 
"You  are  a  strong,  free  soul!  a  soul  to  be  trusted! 
And  you  forgive  me?" 

He  still  had  her  hands  and,  the  others,  entering 
again,  she  rose,  gently  withdrawing  them  while  she 
said,  "  Don't  think  of  it  again." 


CHAPTER  XI 

TYTHEN  Mrs.  Fennamy  and  her  daughter  were 
VV  g°ne>  Wehlitz  lay  for  some  time  silent,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  his  eyes  fixed  before 
him.  Suddenly  he  called  his  friends.  "  Eleanora ! 
Conrad !  Here !  Come  to  me."  Eleanora  and  Sachs 
turned  from  the  window  where  they  had  stood  in 
silence.  "  I  must  have  your  help,"  said  Wehlitz,  look- 
ing up  at  them.  "  You  see  what  my  situation  is. 
You  read  it  plainly.  I  cannot  live  without  her. 
What  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

Eleanora  clasped  her  hands.  "But,  Ludwig,  my 
dear,  dear  friend,  what  is  done,  when  a  man  loves  a 
woman  and  cannot  live  without  her  ?  " 

A  deep  blush  mounted  to  Wehlitz's  brow.  He  sat 
up  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  "  I  dare  not ! "  he 
muttered  presently. 

Eleanora  had  drawn  a  chair  beside  the  sofa  and, 
casting  a  glance  of  prophetic  gravity  upon  Sachs,  who 
stood  near  by,  she  laid  her  hand  on  Wehlitz's  shoulder 
and  said:  "Why  not,  Ludwig?  Why  not?  Have 
you  not  everything  to  offer  her?  Your  great  name. 
Your  great  future,  your  devotion.  Why  should  you 
not  win  her?  And  I  know  Persis's  heart;  cold,  una- 
wakened,  it  may  be;  but  deep,  with  the  profundity 

136 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

of  a  northern  lake.  Never  have  I  seen  her  so  ab- 
sorbed, so  interested  in  any  man  as  in  you." 

"  She  detests  marriage !     You  heard  her." 

"  I  heard  her !  Yes !  And  you  heed  the  dreams  of 
a  child?  What  does  she  know  of  life? '' 

"  What  does  she  know  ?  Ah,  you  do  not  under- 
stand her  as  I  do!  Neither  you  nor  Conrad  under- 
stands that  free  soul !  At  the  mere  hint  of  bonds  and 
burdens,  I  may  find  that  I  have  lost  her !  It  is  because 
she  believes  me  to  be  unlike  other  men  that  she  has 
become  my  friend ! "  He  tossed  restlessly  upon  the 
sofa  as  he  spoke,  beating  down  his  cushions  and  half 
burying  his  face  in  them.  "  Yet,  how  shall  I  keep 
her  near  my  life  without  bringing  the  shadows  of 
gossip  about  her  head?  This  was  my  thought  the 
other  night,  Conrad.  Yes,  there  was  sincerity  in  my 
hope  for  you,  though  you  mocked  at  it."  And  again 
he  hid  his  face  muttering,  "Yet  self-delusion,  too! 
self-delusion.  I  could  not  share  her.  Not  even  her 
friendship.  Pitiful  to-day!  pitiful!  so  to  expose  my 
jealousy  to  her !  " 

"  But,  Ludwig,"  Sachs  said,  seating  himself  at  the 
foot  of  the  sofa  and  casting  a  quietly  merry  glance 
upon  his  friend,  "  why  should  you  judge  your  state 
with  such  severity?  Does  one  ask  composure  and 
wisdom  from  a  man  in  love?  Come;  is  it  not  plain 
to  us  all  that  it  is  you  who  must  win  Fraulein  Fen- 
namy  ?  It  must  indeed  be  plain  to  her.  And  now  let 
us  lay  our  heads  together  and  seek  out  the  best  way  of 
winning  this  young  lady  who  has  never  shed  a  tear." 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Yes,  yes.  In  Heaven's  name,  Ludwig,  no  dreams ! 
no  follies !  "  Eleanora  cried.  "  May  she  never  know 
that  you  indulged  them.  Listen  to  Herr  Sachs.  He 
speaks  like  the  man  of  sense  he  is ! " 

"  Yes,  I  am  listening."  Ludwig  clutched  at  his 
head.  "  Think  for  me.  I  am  distraught !  Shall  I 
say  that  I  ask  no  more  than  a  nominal  marriage,  so 
that  I  may  be  with  her  always?  I  can  promise  her 
to  rise  above  lesser  desires." 

"  Good  heavens,  Ludwig,"  said  Eleanora,  "  do  not 
take  the  spiritual  arrogance  of  a  child  so  seriously! 
You  must  tell  her  that  you  ask  all — all,  of  her!  No 
woman  welcomes  a  bloodless  devotion — whatever  she 
may  tell  herself." 

"  I  understand  her,  I  say,  and  you  do  not,"  Wehlitz 
cried  angrily.  "  It  is  for  her  to  dictate  the  terms  of 
our  union.  She  must  be  told  that  I  ask  only  the 
torch  of  her  spirit,  taking  fire  from  mine,  lighting  thus 
our  united  paths.  She  must  be  told  that  our  children, 
if  she  so  wishes  it,  shall  be  the  works  that  we  shall 
write  together,  she  to  be  my  spur  and  stay!  Yes;  I 
am  nearer  to  her  heart  than  you  think  and  I  read 
it  as  you  cannot.  Conrad  shall  convey  my  suit  to 
her.  I  shall  go  away.  I  shall  go  away  at  once."  He 
sat  up,  casting  off  the  rugs  that  covered  him. 

Eleanora  raised  her  hands  to  heaven.  "Ludwig, 
stay,  I  conjure  you.  Listen  to  me,"  she  cried,  grasp- 
ing his  arm  to  detain  him.  "  Listen  to  me,  and  to 
Herr  Sachs,  who  will  tell  you  what  I  tell  you.  Put  it 
so  if  you  will,  say  what  you  will  to  her;  but  let  her  see 

138 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

that  it  is  from  no  lack  of  ardour  in  yourself;  that  is 
all  I  ask  of  you.  Plead  your  own  cause,  whatever  the 
cause  may  be.  I  beseech  you  to  listen  to  me ! " 

"  No,  no,  no ! "  Wehlitz  had  risen  and,  in  great 
agitation,  was  feeling  in  his  pockets,  stroking  down  his 
hair,  walking  to  and  fro  as  if  uncertain  what  steps 
to  take  towards  instant  flight.  "  You  do  not  under- 
stand, my  good  Eleanora,  neither  her  nor  me.  I 
should  alienate  her  by  ardour.  She  shrinks  from 
ardour.  And  to  speak  to  her  myself  would  shatter 
me.  I  am  not  a  man  of  the  burly  physical  type.  It 
is  beyond  my  strength.  Conrad  will  plead  my  cause 
for  me  and  I  will  go  to-night  to  my  mother.  The 
time-table.  Where  is  the  time-table?  let  one  be 
brought !  "  He  rang  violently. 

Eleanora  had  fallen  back  in  her  chair  and  sat  gazing 
at  him  despairingly.  The  man  came  and  returned 
with  the  time-table,  and  only  after  he  had  gone  again 
and  while  Wehlitz,  with  shaking  fingers,  was  turning 
the  leaves,  did  she  say :  "  You  are  not  fit  to  go  alone 
on  any  journey,  Ludwig.  May  I  not  go  to  Persis  to 
plead  your  cause,  while  Herr  Sachs  goes  with  you?" 

Sachs  had  remained  sitting  on  the  end  of  the  sofa, 
his  eyes  thoughtfully  downcast;  he  raised  them  now 
\\  ith  a  look  of  gratitude.  "  Well  found,  signorina !  " 
he  said.  "  It  would  be  much  better  so.  I  have  no 
gift  with  young  ladies." 

"No,  no,  no!  I  will  not  have  it  so!"  Wehlitz 
cried,  pausing  from  his  search.  "  I  will  not,  do  you 
hear?  This  one  is  not  as  other  young  ladies.  It  is 

139 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Conrad's  lack  of  gift  that  will  do  more  for  me  than 
all  your  eloquence,  Eleanora !  I  fear  your  eloquence ! 
She  will  distrust  it.  Conrad  will  say  for  me  what  I 
cannot  say  for  myself.  You  will  go  to  her,  Conrad? 
You  will  not  refuse  to  do  me  this  service  ?  " 

"  No,  I  will  not  refuse,  Ludwig.  But  I  agree  with 
the  Signorina.  It  would  be  better  if  you  were  to  go 
yourself." 

Wehlitz  shook  the  words  away  with  an  impatient 
hand.  "  Enough ;  I  will  not ;  I  cannot.  Already  the 
thought  of  it  has  put  me  in  a  fever.  You  go,  then, 
to-morrow  morning;  and  you  will  tell  her  what  I 
have  said,  that  it  is  for  her  to  determine  the  conditions 
of  our  union.  And  if  she  cannot  accept  me,  you  will 
secure  from  her  promise  that  our  friendship  shall 
continue  on  its  present  footing.  Do  you  see,  Conrad  ? 
I  shall  have  done  nothing,  in  that  case,  to  jeopardise 
it.  And  you  will  telegraph  to  me,  at  once,  Conrad?  " 

"  Yes.  But  since  it  is  to  be  to-morrow,  why  not 
wait  quietly  here?" 

"  No.  I  cannot  remain  here  and  wait  to  learn  my 
fate."  He  looked  about  the  room  with  a  haggard 
gaze.  "If  she  will  not  unite  her  life  with  mine,  I 
cannot  see  her  for  some  days.  It  will  need  my 
strength,  fully  recovered,  to  face  the  blow.  I  must 
gather  myself  together.  I  must  compose  myself.  Al- 
ready I  have  shown  myself  to  her  in  a  pitiable  light; 
like  a  foolish  school-boy,  that  has  been  my  behaviour. 
If  she  will  not  accept  me,  I  must  learn  to  meet  her  in 
another  fashion,  with  the  dignity,  the  authority  of 

140 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

one  who  is  her  master  as  well  as  a  friend."  He  walked 
up  and  down,  running  his  hand  through  his  hair. 

Sachs  picked  up  the  forgotten  time-table.  "  And 
what  train  will  you  take,  Ludwig?  I  see  one  here  at 
half-past  seven.  That  will  give  you  time  to  eat  while 
I  put  your  clothes  together." 

Eleanora  now  rose.  "  You  are  not  fit  to  go  alone, 
Ludwig.  You  will,  at  all  events,  however  futile  you 
consider  me,  allow  me  to  accompany  you." 

He  turned  to  look  at  her.  He  gazed  and  then  broke 
into  a  short,  almost  a  playful  laugh,  holding  out  his 
hands.  "  What  friends  I  have !  "  he  cried.  "  What 
friends!  Was  it  not  you  who  found  me  futile,  Elea- 
nora? You  demanded  of  me  that  I  should  be  another 
man  than  what  I  am.  Ah,  we  shall  not  quarrel  fur- 
ther. Yes ;  you  will  come  with  me,  and  you  will  pray 
for  me  to  your  good  old  grandpapa  in  heaven  that  I 
shall  be  made  happy.  You  believe  that  there  may  be  a 
chance  for  me,  Eleanora?  Yes;  you  have  said  so. 
Ah,  those  eyes  of  hers!  Those  eyes  of  dawn  over  the 
sea !  And  they  may  dawn  for  me,  for  me,  Eleanora ; 
over  my  darkness!  Who  can  tell?  Come;  come; 
to  eat,  as  Conrad  says.  We  must  be  strong  to  face 
these  coming  days." 


CHAPTER  XII 

"T  Y  THEN  Persis  came  into  her  mother's  room  next 
V  V  morning  she  found  her  reading  a  sheet  hastily 
dashed  with  Eleanora's  large,  excitable  hand-writing 
and  her  expression  as  she  looked  up  from  it  was  oddly 
compounded  of  satisfaction  and  perplexity.  "  What 
do  you  think,  Persis,"  she  said,  "  Herr  Wehlitz  has 
gone  away  with  Eleanora.  They  went  yesterday  even- 
ing; right  after  we'd  been  there.  And  Herr  Sachs 
is  coming  this  morning  to  explain.  Here,  read  it 
yourself.  Eleanora  is  evidently  very  agitated."  Mrs. 
Fennamy  took  up  the  coffee-pot  and  poured  out  the 
coffee,  thus  giving  Persis  an  opportunity,  did  she  de- 
sire one,  of  composing  her  features.  Persis  read  the 
note.  It  was  dated  6.45 — an  hour  hardly  after  she 
and  her  mother  had  left  the  hotel — and  written,  evi- 
dently in  the  greatest  haste,  on  the  hotel  note-paper. 
Eleanora  gave  them  her  blessing  and  said  that  she 
would  see  them  again  soon.  "  How  very  extraor- 
dinary," Persis  commented,  laying  the  sheet  down  on 
the  breakfast  tray.  Her  voice  was  even,  and  as  she 
spoke  she  drew  her  chair  up  to  the  bed  and  took  a 
roll  from  beneath  its  napkin.  But,  with  swift  upward 
glance,  her  mother  saw  that  her  face  had  been  stricken, 
as  if  by  a  sudden  blow,  into  an  amazed  rigidity. 

142 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  's  gone  mad,  poor  fellow  ?  " 
Mrs.  Fennamy  suggested.  "  He  looked  very  queer 
and  wild  yesterday,  and  the  way  he  behaved  about 
Graf  von  Liidenstein  was  hardly  sane.  Did  he  say 
anything  to  you  about  Graf  von  Liidenstein  after  we 
left  you?" 

Persis  had  buttered  her  roll  and  was  drinking  her 
coffee.  "  Yes.  I  told  him  that  he  had  displeased 
me  and  he  asked  my  pardon.  He  seemed  to  me  very 
childish,  but  not  at  all  insane."  Under  her  frosty 
composure  her  mind  was  snatching  at  conjectures. 
Was  it  possible  that  the  puerile  jealousy  had  returned 
and  that  it  had  determined  him  to  leave  her?  Did 
he  trust  her  so  little  and  insult  her  so  deeply?  And 
how  could  he  have  gone  like  this  without  a  word  to 
her?  Eleanora's  discretion,  as  of  one  who  picked 
cautious  footsteps  about  a  shrine — or  might  it  be  a 
tomb? — was  full  of  portentous  implications.  "It's 
a  very  silly  note,"  she  observed  presently. 

"  Well,  dear  Eleanora  is  pretty  silly  sometimes. 
We  know  that,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  returned.  "  Was 
there  ever  anybody  so  ready  to  put  herself  out  for 
her  friends?  Think  of  her  going  off  with  him  like 
this  at  a  moment's  notice,  not  giving  herself  time,  I 
suppose,  to  take  a  night-gown  and  a  tooth-brush.  Of 
course  he  looked  hardly  fit  to  stand  alone,  but  I  should 
have  thought  Herr  Sachs  would  have  gone  with  him 
or  that  they  would  have  taken  a  later  train;  she  says 
the  7.30,  doesn't  she?  It  looks  as  if  they  were  just 
crazy  to  get  off."  And  since  Persis  remained  silent, 

143 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

she  added :  "  Perhaps  he  has  had  a  stroke  or  fit  or 
something  and  wants  Herr  Sachs  to  teach  you  phi- 
losophy." 

After  a  pause,  Persis  answered  this  last  surmise. 
"  Ludwig  is  n't  likely  to  send  Herr  Sachs  as  a  sub- 
stitute. If  he  is  really  gone  for  good  I  shall  go  on 
with  my  philosophy  at  a  university." 

This  suggestion  was  more  pleasing  to  Mrs.  Fen- 
namy  than  a  wish  Persis  had  expressed  the  year  be- 
fore to  go  on  the  stage.  She  hoped  that  the  wound 
to  her  child's  pride  was  not  deep;  and  at  all  events, 
she  felt  secure  in  the  belief,  her  heart  had  escaped  un- 
touched. 

It  was  a  sparkling  autumn  morning  and  since  there 
was  over  an  hour  to  wait  before  Herr  Sachs  should 
come,  Persis  went  out  for  her  usual  morning  walk 
along  the  river  path.  The  woods  lay  on  one  side,  and 
on  the  other,  the  water  shining  between  them,  a  row 
of  young  poplars  edged  the  river  bank.  Persis  glanced 
about  her  as  she  walked,  after  her  wont.  She  held 
her  head  high  and  in  her  white  dress,  with  her  shining 
eyes  and  fresh  pallor,  looked  as  radiant  as  the  morn- 
ing. 

But  a  heavy  depression  was  upon  her  and  no  pride 
or  feigned  indifference  could  hide  from  her  the  fact 
that  she  was  suffering.  Wehlitz  could  not  be  dismissed 
as  one  among  the  many  episodes  of  her  nomadic  life. 
He  had  altered  her  existence  to  its  very  foundations, 
already,  in  these  few  days.  Childish  she  might  find 
him,  and  at  moments  deeply  wearying,  but  no  one  had 

144 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ever  come  so  near  to  her  or  moved  her  so  profoundly. 
No  one  had  ever  demanded  so  much  of  her  or  made 
her  feel  herself  so  much.  She  felt  herself  now  not 
only  disorganized  but  diminished.  Bewilderment  min- 
gled with  her  dismay. 

Suddenly,  at  a  turning  of  the  path,  she  came  face 
to  face  with  Liidenstein.  He  had  taken  the  waters 
at  the  little  Kur-Haus  half  a  mile  away,  and  was 
walking  with  his  hands  clasped  over  his  stick  behind 
him,  his  head  raised  while  he  drew  in  long  breaths 
of  the  aromatic  air.  The  sunlight  sparkled  on  his 
golden  beard.  Persis,  as  she  saw  him,  stopped  short 
and  she  could  not  have  said  whether  fear  or  pride  more 
moved  her. 

"  Good-morning,  Fraulein,"  said  Liidenstein,  doffing 
his  hat  and  sweeping  her  a  low  bow.  "  I  am  fortunate. 
Do  you  often  walk  here  in  the  morning?" 

He  knew,  perhaps,  the  reason  for  Ludwig's  depar- 
ture. If  he  did,  it  was  strange  that  he  should  not 
at  once  speak  of  it.  She  would  ask  him  nothing, 
but  he  might  tell  her.  She  realized  that  she  re- 
sented the  position  in  which  she  was  placed  in  re- 
gard to  Herr  Sachs.  She  hoped  that  Liidenstein, 
rather  than  Ludwig's  emissary,  might  enlighten 
her. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  said.  She  did  not  give  him 
her  hand  though  she  smiled  upon  him  coldly,  nor  did 
she  answer  his  question.  He  had  turned  to  walk 
beside  her.  "  You  clear  your  thoughts  before  the 
lesson?"  he  went  on,  and  his  glance  this  morning 

145 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

was  almost  flawlessly  paternal.     "  Is  it  still  at  fen 
o'clock?" 

"  There  is  to  be  no  lesson  this  morning,"  said  Persis, 
"Ludwig  has  left  Tannenkreuz.  Did  you  not 
know?" 

Liidenstein  stopped  short  in  the  path  to  gaze  at  her. 
"Ludwig  has  left  Tannenkreuz?" 

"Yes."  She  continued  to  smile,  and  there  was 
irony  in  the  smile. 

"  But  when  ?    How  ?    With  whom  ?  " 

"  Last  night.  An  hour  after  mamma  and  I  had  left 
him.  Signorina  Zardo  has  gone  with  him.  We  heard 
only  this  morning." 

"  Herr  Gott! "  Liidenstein  ejaculated.  "  This  is 
surprising.  And  may  I  ask  the  reason  for  this  sudden 
departure?  I  have  been  told  nothing." 

"  I  have  not  been  told  yet,  either.  Herr  Sachs  is 
coming  this  morning  at  ten  to  explain  everything  to 
me."  There  was  a  deeper  satisfaction,  certainly,  in 
enlightening  Graf  von  Liidenstein  than  in  receiving 
enlightenment  from  him.  He  stood  beside  her  in  the 
path  looking  down  at  her,  and  behind  his  glasses  his 
sleepy  eyes  showed  a  keen  scrutiny. 

"  Sachs  is  coming  to  see  you.  Ludwig  has  sent 
Sachs  to  you,"  he  murmured,  and  then,  turning  to 
walk  on,  he  added  after  a  moment,  pulling  gently  at 
his  beard:  "Ah,  yes — I  see.  I  think,  now,  that  I 
begin  to  read  the  riddle." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  give  me  the  key  to  it,  then,"  said 
Persis.  "  For  I  am  very  much  in  the  dark." 

146 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Liidenstein  seemed  deeply  to  muse,  and  a  faint 
chuckle  agitated  his  shoulders.  "  The  riddles  of 
Ludwig's  eccentricities  are  difficult  at  times  to  read," 
he  said ;  "  but,  yes,  I  think  that  I  can  interpret  this 
one  for  you.  Little  Sachs;  the  court  jester;  Ludwig's 
own  very  particular  property.  Yes;  it  is  the  key; 
unmistakably.  But  perhaps,  in  fairness  to  our  friend, 
it  would  be  better  that  little  Sachs  himself  should  put 
it  into  your  hands."  He  was  laughing  softly  now, 
shaking  his  head,  his  eyebrows  raised  as  though  at 
some  inconceivably  comical  revelation. 

"  Not  at  all,"  Persis  said  with  some  urgency.  "  I 
would  rather  know  beforehand.  I  can't  imagine  why 
Herr  Sachs  should  be  sent  to  me,  why  Ludwig  did  n't 
write  to  me.  That  would  have  been  the  natural  thing 
to  do,  the  simple  thing." 

"  The  natural  thing,  the  simple  thing,  is  not  the 
thing  to  which  our  Ludwig  is  by  temperament  in- 
clined. No,  no;  it  is  drama,  mystery,  romance,  that 
he  craves,  realist  though  he  imagines  himself  to  be. 
He  has  constructed  drama  and  romance  in  this  case 
from  very  singular  materials,  from  very  disparate 
materials,  one  must  own ;  but  is  it  not  the  function  of 
romance  to  unite  the  singular  and  the  disparate  ?  Pre- 
pare, then,  for  a  surprise,  Fraulein,  when  I  tell  you 
that  Ludwig's  hope  is  that  you  may  become  the  wife 
of  little  Sachs.  So  he  will  secure  his  court  jester  and 
his  Egeria  at  once." 

The  young  girl's  eyes  were  on  him,  fixed  in  a  gaze 
of  blank  astonishment.  She  had  stopped  still  in  her 


walk.     "What    do    you    mean?"    she    stammered. 

"  What  I  say,  Fraulein.  Ludwig  proposed  it  to 
Sachs,  the  other  evening,  with  all  seriousness  in  my 
presence.  It  is  true  that  Sachs  refused  to  consider 
the  idea.  Ludwig  since  then,  inconceivable  as  I  own 
I  find  it,  for  Sachs  is  by  no  means  devoid  of  wits, 
must  have  over-persuaded  him." 

She  now  walked  forward  again.  She  looked  before 
her  steadily.  To  have  turned  her  eyes  on  Graf  von 
Liidenstein  would  have  been  to  avow  too  helplessly 
her  anger  and  her  humiliation;  but  glancing  aside  at 
her  as  they  went  he  could  note  that  her  delicate, 
stubborn  profile,  with  its  child-like  forehead  and  petu- 
lant lips,  had  stiffened  into  a  look  of  intense,  repudi- 
ating pride. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  unpleasantly  surprised 
you,  Fraulein,"  he  said.  "  Do  not  take  it  hardly. 
It  is  a  comedy;  to  be  laughed  at — and  you  will  laugh 
at  it — and  at  him — when  friend  Sachs  repeats  it  to 
you.  Eh!  eh!  that  young  man!  What  effrontery! 
But  it  is  the  effrontery  of  sheer  naivete.  And  with 
our  poor  Ludwig,  too,  Fraulein,  it  is  naivete;  do  not 
forget  that.  Do  not  be  angry  with  him." 

After  a  few  more  moments,  in  a  low  voice,  Persis 
said:  "What  could  have  been  his  motive?  Is  he 
mad?" 

"His  motive?  Why  the  happiness  of  his  friend — 
of  his  friends.  It  is  not  only  devotion  to  Sachs; 
but  devotion  to  you.  Ah,  he  enlarged  upon  the  ad- 
vantages to  you  of  such  a  mate !  " 

148 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  He  could  think  of  that  little  man  as  a  fitting 
husband  for  me."  Disdain  and  disgust  curled  her 
lips. 

"Ludwig  does  not  see  our  realisms,  Fraulein;  he 
does  not  see  Sachs  as  he  is.  Anything  that  is  his  own 
becomes  in  Ludwig's  eyes  precious  and  significant  and 
desirable.  Sachs  he  counts  as  his  very  own." 

"  He  has  no  right  to  count  me  as  his  very  own." 
Her  chagrin  was  so  intense  that  she  found  herself 
helplessly  sharing  it  with  this  stranger. 

"  No  ?  "  Liidenstein  smiled.  "  Yet  it  is,  you  must 
own  it,  part  of  Ludwig's  charm  that  where  he  counts 
himself  yours  he  takes  complete  reciprocity  for 
granted." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  a  little  further  and  Persis 
then  said  that  she  would  go  back.  "  It  will  be  time 
for  Herr  Sachs  to  come." 

Liidenstein  turned  with  her.  "  Do  not  be  angry 
with  Ludwig,  Fraulein,  let  me  beg  it  of  you  again. 
I  should  feel,  unless  you  can  treat  this  lightly,  that  I 
have  done  him  a  wrong." 

"  I  asked  you  to  tell  me." 

"  True ;  yet  I  should  not  have  offered  my  solution 
had  I  realized  that  you  would  feel  in  Ludwig's  project 
a  personal  affront.  You  would  not  do  so  if  you  un- 
derstood him.  He  is  ignorant  of  the  standards  and 
perceptions  of  the  world." 

"  I  am  quite  as  indifferent  to  the  standards  of  the 
world  as  he  can  be,"  said  Persis  haughtily.  "  No 
artificial  standard  should  have  been  required  to  pre- 
149 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

serve  Ludwig  from  such  presumption  and  such 
stupidity." 

They  said  no  more  until  the  pension  grille  was 
reached,  Liidenstein's  glance,  deliberate  and  adroit, 
turning  on  her  from  time  to  time  with  a  look  of  quiet 
amusement  tinged  with  a  certain  cautious  satisfaction. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  stepping  into  the  garden. 
She  drew  the  grille  behind  her. 

"  Au  revoir,  surely,"  said  Liidenstein. 

Persis  gazed  above  his  head.  "  I  do  not  know. 
We  may  be  leaving  Tannenkreuz.  It  does  not  inter- 
est me  here  very  much." 

"But  Ludwig  will  still  hope  to  be  your  master. 
Why  should  Sachs's  rebuff  change  your  relation  ?  " 

She  swung  the  grille  slightly  on  its  creaking  hinges, 
still  not  looking  at  him.  "  And  there  is  our  music," 
Liidenstein  added.  "Will  you  not  stay  for  that?" 

"  Oh  no ;  I  should  not  stay  for  that,"  said  Persis. 
The  bitterness  of  her  self -absorption  wrapped  her  in 
indifference  to  Graf  von  Liidenstein. 

She  felt  now  that  she  wished  to  leave  Tannenkreuz 
and  never  again  to  see  either  Ludwig  or  Herr  Sachs 
or  this  ambiguous  man  who  stood  before  her.  "  Good- 
bye," she  repeated,  and  she  closed  the  grille  de- 
cisively. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HERR  SACHS  had  already  arrived.  He  was 
waiting  for  her  in  their  little  sitting-room, 
perched  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  his  crutch  beside  him, 
his  hat  held  awkwardly  in  his  hands. 

The  burning  images  that  crowded  her  mind  focussed 
themselves  upon  this  ungainly  figure.  Here  was  the 
end  of  the  fairy-tale  into  which  she  had  felt  herself 
caught  up.  She  was  confronted  with  a  toad,  and  it 
was  Ludwig  who  had  sent  the  toad  to  her.  The  icy 
contempt  with  which  she  fixed  the  young  man  was 
less  for  him  than  for  Ludwig ;  yet  that  he  was  at  once 
aware  of  it  she  saw,  for  he  started  to  his  feet,  blushing 
furiously,  knocking  over  his  crutch,  dropping  his  hat, 
and  becoming  for  the  moment  such  a  merely  piteous 
spectacle  that  Persis,  involuntarily,  stooped  and  re- 
stored the  hat  and  crutch  to  him. 

"  Vielen  Dank,  vielen  Dank,  Fraulein,"  he  breathed. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Persis  in  a  voice  of  frosty 
courtesy.  "  You  have  come  to  see  me  ?  I  hear  from 
Signorina  Zardo  that  Herr  Wehlitz  has  left  Tannen- 
kreuz.  Is  it  for  good  ?  " 

Sachs  had  sunk  again  to  the  edge  of  his  chair,  but 
Persis  remained  standing  before  him,  the  princess, 
indeed,  in  her  whites  and  golds  and  greens,  the 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

princess  confronting  the  toad,  and  her  heart  was  bit- 
ter not  so  much  against  the  poor,  dun,  dusty  toad, 
gaping  in  its  toad-like  stupidity,  as  against  the  friend, 
the  supposed  friend,  who  had  sent  him  to  her  with 
his  inconceivable  request.  For  Sachs  was  indeed 
gaping  blankly,  as  he  echoed ;  "  For  good,  Fraulein  ?  " 
staring  up  at  her;  and  in  his  consternation,  for  it  was 
that,  he  had  lost  his  confusion. 

"  Yes ;  is  it  for  good  that  he  is  gone  ?  "  Persis  re- 
peated. "  He  has  not  vouchsafed  any  explanation  to 
me." 

"  I  have  come  with  a  message  to  you  from  Ludwig, 
Fraulein,"  said  Sachs,  after  a  slight  pause  in  which 
they  looked  at  each  other,  she  standing  beside  the 
table,  her  finger-tips  resting  tensely  upon  it.  "But 
you  make  it  difficult  to  give.  You  almost  make  me 
feel,  in  advance,  that  it  is  useless." 

"  I  know  your  message,  Herr  Sachs,"  said  Persis 
then.  She  was  becoming  sorry  for  him  and  she  could 
not  bear  to  let  him  go  on  and  croak  out  his  grotesque 
proposal.  Hurrying  her  words,  her  colour  rising,  she 
went  on :  "I  know  it,  so  please  don't  try  to  say  any- 
thing further  about  it.  It  is  some  very  fantastic  ideal 
of  friendship  that  has  brought  you  here;  for  even  if 
Ludwig  in  his  devotion  to  you  did  not  see  how  im- 
possible it  was,  you  should  have  seen  it  for  yourself. 
It  is  impossible,  Herr  Sachs  " — his  gaze  of  intense  as- 
tonishment, instead  of  checking  her,  drove  her  to  an 
extreme  of  literalness — "  quite  impossible.  I  could 
never  marry  you." 

152 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

She  looked  about  her,  as  she  heard  her  lips  bring 
out  these  last  words,  with  frowning  helplessness,  un- 
willing to  witness  Herr  Sachs's  pitiful  confusion;  and 
sinking  on  a  chair  that  stood  near  by  she  fixed  her 
eyes  on  the  window  and  for  a  long  time,  it  seemed  to 
her,  there  was  silence.  Then  she  heard  Herr  Sachs's 
voice,  burdened,  groping,  as  if  in  the  sudden  obscurity 
she  had  cast  about  him  it  sought  for  an  exit  "  But 
that  is  not  the  message  I  have  come  with.  Who  has 
told  you  this,  Fraulein  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

His  clear  impersonality  could  not  help  her ;  she  was 
dyed  in  blushes.  "  It  was  the  other  evening,  he  said, 
and  in  his  presence,  that  Ludwig  suggested  it.  You 
must  forgive  me;  but  it  seemed  the  only  explanation; 
Graf  von  Liidenstein  did  not  know,  either,  of  any 
reason  for  Ludwig's  going  away  suddenly  or  why  you 
should  be  sent  to  me.  He  said  he  thought  it  must  be 
this.  I  am  so  sorry." 

"Yes.  I  see,"  said  Sachs  looking  gravely  at  her. 
"  And  you  have  just  come  from  him.  Would  it  not 
perhaps  have  been  better  to  have  waited  to  hear  what 
I  had  to  tell  you  before  you  questioned  Graf  von 
Ludenstein  ?  " 

She  was  abashed.  "  Yes.  It  would  have  been  bet- 
ter. But  I  was  troubled.  I  could  not  understand. 
Ludwig  seemed  to  have  treated  me  with  so  little  con- 
sideration." 

"  I  see,"  Herr  Sachs  repeated,  and  for  a  few  mo- 
ments there  was  a  silence  in  which  Persis  tasted  perhaps 
the  deepest  discomfiture  she  had  ever  known.  "  I 

153 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

see,"  Herr  Sachs  took  up  after  this  pause.  "  And  you 
have  just  come  from  him.  He  may  have  believed 
what  he  told  you;  but  this  was  ill  done  of  Graf  von 
Liidenstein;  very  ill  done." 

"  I  asked  him,"  Persis  murmured.  "  He  said  that 
he  thought  he  understood  and  I  asked  him  to  let  me 
understand  too.  It  was  not  true,  then  ?  " 

"Yes;  it  was  true;  after  a  fashion,  true,"  said 
Sachs,  with  his  preoccupied  air.  "  Ludwig,  for  a 
moment,  on  that  evening,  may  have  deluded  himself 
into  thinking  that  he  really  wished  such  a  thing. 

"  He  had  renounced  the  idea  of  marriage  for  him- 
self, and,  since  he  idealizes  all  those  he  loves,  I  seemed 
to  him,  perhaps,  for  the  moment,  worthy  of  such  an 
alliance.  But  Graf  von  Liidenstein  knew  how  I  re- 
ceived the  suggestion.  He  knew  that  I  laughed  it  to 
scorn.  Ah;  a  very  paltry  action." 

"  He  said  you  laughed.  He  thought  Ludwig  must 
have  over-persuaded  you.  Why  should  he  have  told 
me  of  it  unless  he  believed  it  possible?  " 

"Why  indeed?  For  he  is  Ludwig's  friend.  But 
Ludwig  vexed  him  that  night;  and  intended  to  vex 
him.  There  was  that  beneath  it,  too,  beneath  this 
foolish  idea  of  Ludwig's.  It  was  a  challenge  to 
Liidenstein.  He  is  jealous  of  Liidenstein.  I  need 
not  tell  you  that."  He  still  pondered,  his  eyes  on 
the  ground  and  she  felt  herself  wishing  that  they 
could  rest  upon  her  again,  in  forgiveness. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  see,  too,  how  very  fantastic 
and  foolish  an  idea  it  was,"  she  murmured.  "  I  do 

154 


not  mean  of  course,"  she  added  hastily,  though  hardly 
more  happily,  "  that  you  are  unworthy  of  many  peo- 
ple. Only — for  one  man  to  offer  a  woman  to  an- 
other man,  a  man  she  hardly  knows;  you  see  it  is 
fantastic." 

"  Quite  as  clearly  as  you  do,  Fraulein ;  quite  as 
clearly  as  Graf  von  Liidenstein  does,  I  assure  you. 
Ludwig  often  is  fantastic."  They  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  what  the  message,  presumably  not  fantastic, 
that  had  brought  him  to  her,  might  be.  Persis  re- 
called it  to  him. 

"What  was  Ludwig's  message,  then?"  she 
questioned. 

He  looked  at  her  at  last,  not  now  with  any  sever- 
ity, but  with  a  deep,  scrutinizing  perplexity.  And 
without  speaking  he  examined  her  thus  for  some  mo- 
ments before  he  asked,  "  Do  you  not  guess  it,  Frau- 
lein?" 

She  shook  her  head,  her  eyes  dwelling  on  his.  She 
did  not  guess  it;  not  at  all. 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  you,  Fraulein,  if  you  will 
marry  Ludwig,"  said  Sachs.  "  Surely  you  have  seen 
how  deeply  he  loves  you." 

Persis  as  she  heard  these  words  rose  to  her  feet. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  ever  been  asked  in 
marriage  and  the  request  changed  her  to  herself. 
After  her  great  astonishment,  joy  and  fear  thrilled  in 
her,  and  then  the  wave  of  a  dark  regret,  as  if  for 
something  precious  yet  spoiled.  "  Tell  me,"  she  said 
in  a  dull  voice.  "  What  does  he  say  to  me  ?  " 

155 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"It  was  after  you  had  gone  yesterday,  Fraulein," 
said  Sachs,  looking  away  from  her,  "  and  he  told  us, 
Signorina  Zardo  and  me,  that  he  could  not  live  with- 
out you.  And  he  could  not  bear  to  wait  here  until  he 
had  your  answer.  So  it  was  arranged  that  I  should 
come  to  you  while  he,  with  the  Signorina,  went  for 
some  days  to  his  mother.  He  will  be  patient." 
Sachs's  eyes  again  turned  on  her ;  "  He  will  wait  as 
long  as  you  wish  if  you  will  give  him  hope.  He  knows 
that  it  is  sudden  and  that  you  may  feel  you  can  give 
no  answer  yet ;  but  he  loves  you  so  much  that  he  could 
not  keep  silence  any  longer." 

There  had  flashed  into  her  capricious  mind  now, 
from  a  distant  past,  the  memory  of  a  beautiful  doll, 
waxen,  golden,  rosy,  with  real  hair,  and  eyes  that 
closed,  and  clothes  of  silk  and  lawn.  It  had  been  put 
into  her  hands  on  a  Christmas  morning  and  after- 
wards, in  the  grave  delights  of  examination,  she  had 
discovered  that  its  feet  were  abbreviated  to  the  point 
of  deformity  and  that  they  had  painted  shoes  and 
socks  upon  them.  The  doll  had  been  spoiled  for  her. 
So  it  was  now. 

"  How  can  he  love  me  if  only  the  other  day  he 
wished  you  to  marry  me  ?  " 

Herr  Sachs  had  watched  her  clouding,  downcast 
face.  "But  that  was  still  to  love  you — though  to 
love  you  differently,  Fraulein.  He  did  not  then  know 
you  so  well,  and  it  was  as  a  sister  and  comrade  that 
he  wished  to  keep  you  in  his  life." 

"  But  it  was  so  absurd  of  Ludwig;  worse  than  fan- 

156 


THE  ENCOUNTER' 

tastic;  how  could  a  man  be  so  absurd?  To  have 
thought  of  you  and  me;  two  people  who  do  not  care 
for  each  other  at  all;  who  hardly  know  each  other. 
Such  absurdity  makes  a  man  almost  repulsive.  I 
must  say  it." 

"  But  Ludwig  was  not  so  absurd  as  that,  Fraulein," 
said  Sachs,  his  manner  of  patient  determination  un- 
changed. "  It  is  not  true  to  say  neither  of  us  cared. 
Ludwig  had  seen  that  I  admired  you  very  much ;  that 
I  was  much  smitten.  He  is  quick,  very  quick,  at  see- 
ing such  things." 

She  felt  herself  turning  helplessly  in  a  tangled 
Mdrchen  where  the  very  trees  took  human  shape  and 
spoke  to  her. 

"You  admired  me  very  much?  You  were  much 
smitten?"  Her  own  dazed  voice  seemed  to  come 
from  far  away  and  to  be  part  of  the  fairy-tale. 

"  Yes,  Fraulein,"  said  Sachs  faintly  smiling.  "  A 
cat,  you  know,  may  look  at  a  king." 

She  stared  and  stared  at  him,  her  brows  knitted  in 
the  effort  to  understand.  "  You  would  have  liked 
to  marry  me?  Ludwig  saw  that  you  would  have 
liked  to  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  that,  Fraulein,  the  idea  could  never  have 
crossed  my  mind.  I  only  tell  you  this  so  that  you 
may  see  that  Ludwig's  was  not  quite  the  absurdity 
you  thought  it." 

She  pushed  her  way  on  among  the  interlacing 
branches  of  the  wonderland.  "  But  how  is  it  pos- 
sible? How  could  he  have  seen  that  you  cared? 

157 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

How  could  you  care  when  you  do  not  know  me  and 
have  hardly  seen  me  ?  " 

Sachs,  now,  as  he  looked  at  her,  gave  a  slight  and 
deprecatory  grimace. 

"  But,  Fraulein,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  love  at  first 
sight.  You  are  young,  and  beautiful,  and  strange, 
too,  like  a  vision.  Why  should  one  not  care  at  once? 
It  was  Schwarmerei,  if  you  like,"  he  found  the  word 
with  evident  relief,  "pure  Schwarmerei,  as  when  we 
Germans  look  at  the  moon  and  the  tears  drip.  It 
came  to  me  like  that,  when  I  saw  you,  that  first  time, 
under  the  trees  in  the  Kur-Garten.  I  am  a  susceptible 
fellow  and  I  do  not  often  see  beautiful  young  ladies. 
You  will  not  be  displeased  with  me,  or  blame  me? 
It  is  only  the  cat  who  looks  at  the  king  and  admires 
the  crown  and  sceptre  and  the  bright,  royal  face." 

She  had  sunk,  while  he  spoke,  on  to  the  little  sofa 
that  was  placed  across  a  corner  of  the  room,  and, 
fallen  together,  her  arms  lying  limply  along  her  lap, 
she  gazed  at  him  with  something  indeed  of  the  expres- 
sion of  the  king  whom  the  cat  had  suddenly  addressed 
in  a  common  tongue.  She  was  absorbed  in  wonder  at 
Herr  Sachs.  He  had  taken  out  his  handkerchief  and 
rubbed  his  forehead  with  it,  casting  glances  of  some 
anxiety  towards  her,  and  now,  as  she  did  not  speak, 
he  went  on  with  a  little  timidity.  "  So  you  will  see 
that  it  was  fantastic,  Ludwig's  devotion  to  me,  Frau- 
lein, but  not  so  absurd,  not  so  absurd  as  to  be  re- 
pulsive." 

Her  thoughts  returned  to  the  spoiled  treasure;  it 

158 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

had,  undoubtedly,  regained  more  normal  proportions 
and  a  more  adequate  attire. 

Sachs's  face  brightened  as  he  saw  from  hers  that 
he  had  lifted  the  darkest  shadow  from  his  friend. 

"  No,  not  so  absurd,"  she  owned.  But  she  went 
on  presently.  "If  he  is  not  so  absurd,  he  is  all  the 
more  unkind.  If  he  saw  what  you  were  feeling,  how 
could  he  bear  to  send  you?  Why  did  he  not  come 
himself?  Wasn't  it  to  make  use  of  your  devotion 
for  him?" 

And  almost  with  a  touch  of  his  quaint  merriment, 
Sachs  answered.  "  But  Fraulein,  he  knows  that  all  I 
could  ask  is  to  be  allowed  to  look!  he  knows  that  it 
would  not  be  possible  for  me  to  think  seriously  of 
romance  in  connection  with  myself,  he  knows  that  I 
feel  it  the  greatest  privilege  and  happiness  to  come — 
if  only  I  can  succeed  for  him.  Why  should  he  not 
send  me?  He  would  have  come  himself  but  that  he 
fears  as  deeply  as  he  loves.  He  is  not  strong.  It 
would  have  broken  him  to  face  your  refusal." 

She  smiled  a  little  at  him  now,  finding  his  smile 
infectious.  "  I  wonder  that  he  did  not  send  Elea- 
nora,"  she  observed. 

"  Ah,  she  and  I  urged  it  upon  him,"  said  Sachs. 
"  She  is,  it  is  true,  as  whole-hearted  in  this  matter  as 
I  am;  but  she  is  perhaps  not  so  wise;  that  is  what 
Ludwig  felt.  He  said  that  he  feared  her  eloquence; 
and  was  there  not  some  truth  in  that?  I  think  there 
was.  You  know  her  too  well.  It  was  better  that  a 
stranger  should  come,  and  a  delegate  only;  not  a 

159 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

pleader  and  advocate;  that  might  have  antagonized 
you." 

Still  she  smiled  at  him,  though  more  gravely,  and 
she  said,  after  a  moment :  "  Sit  down  here.  You 
must  be  tired."  He  had  been  standing  for  a  long 
time,  leaning  on  his  crutch.  He  sat  down  beside  her 
on  the  sofa  and  she  went  on,  her  brooding,  sombre 
look  altering  her  face ;  "  I  have  never  wished  to  marry. 
I  do  not  like  marriage.  You  know  we  talked  of 
Tolstoi.  I  do  not  say  that  he  is  right ;  but,  personally, 
I  feel  with  Tolstoi/' 

It  was  her  girlish  mind,  perplexed  and  groping, 
that  spoke.  The  words  did  not  translate  the  curious, 
cold  tumult  of  her  heart. 

"  I  know  Tolstoi.  Yes,  I  do  not  feel  with  him. 
And  Ludwig  does  not  feel  with  him,"  Herr  Sachs 
replied.  "You  condemn  life,  then?  Ludwig  has 
then  not  yet  cured  you  of  that?" 

"  I  was  only  speaking  for  myself — for  my  own 
feeling.  Would  it  not  stultify  one,  marriage?  and 
tie  one?  the  woman  especially?  Married  women 
usually  seem  to  me  to  become  like  vegetables,  dull, 
rooted,  only  significant  because  they  are  edible  and 
succulent,  so  to  speak ! "  She  smiled  a  little  bitterly 
over  her  simile.  "Unmarried,  one  may  remain  a 
flame.  I  want  to  remain  a  flame." 

"  One  must  be  rooted  if  one  is  to  grow,  Fraulein. 
Why  not  a  flower?  The  married  life,  it  seems  to  me, 
is  the  highest  life;  the  shared  life,  stronger,  fuller, 
through  union,  and  growing  from  its  joy  into  other 

160 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

lives.  'A  flame  is  sterile,  Fraulein,  and  is  soon  extin- 
guished." 

She  sat,  attentive,  yet  unconvinced.  What  he  said 
might  be  true,  but  she  could  not  connect  his  words 
with  Ludwig.  And,  as  the  silence  grew  long,  Sachs 
went  on.  "  But  Ludwig  knows  your  mind  on  this. 
He  would  not  oppress  you  with  choices  too  difficult. 
That  is  what  he  has  charged  me  to  say;  there  need 
be  no  such  choice  for  you.  If  you  will  take  his  name 
and  share  his  life  it  will  be  for  you  to  determine  the 
conditions  of  your  union.  All  that  he  asks  is  to  have 
you  near  him  always.  He  would  want  of  you  nothing 
that  you  did  not  freely,  gladly  give." 

She  sat  looking  down  at  her  clasped  hands.  His 
words  astonished  her,  if  further  astonishment  were 
possible.  Relief,  as  of  a  stress  removed,  seemed  to  fol- 
low them,  and  the  widening  again  of  strange,  new 
horizons.  To  be  the  great  man's  companion,  to  bear 
his  name,  and  with  no  servitude  to  life.  Yet  the  first 
flat  taste  of  regret  was  not  effaced.  "  It  is  very  beau- 
tiful of  Ludwig,"  she  murmured. 

"  Ah,  Fraulein,  he  is  beautiful.  It  is  not  known  or 
understood  how  beautiful  he  is,"  said  Sachs  with  deep 
feeling.  "  He  would  give  his  life  for  what  he  loves. 
You  will  see.  You  will  understand.  You  will  bring 
him  the  happiness  he  so  sorely  needs." 

She  sat  pondering.  "  How  can  you  feel  that  I  am 
the  woman  to  make  him  happy?  You  know,"  she 
said,  raising  her  eyes  to  his,  "Eleanora  always  says, 
when  she  is  displeased  with  me,  that  I  have  no  heart, 

161 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

and  mamma,  I  know,  thinks  so  too.  It  is  true.  I  am 
hard.  I  see  all  the  flaws  in  people  and  it  makes  them 
absurd  to  me.  I  sometimes  feel  there  is  nothing  that 
I  love.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  am  unhappy." 

"  You  are  very  young,  Fraulein,"  said  Sachs,  "  and 
it  is  a  child's  heart  you  have,  so  young,  so  smooth, 
so  hard.  Yes,  I  feel  that  what  you  say  is  true.  It  is 
like  a  bird's  egg,  a  young  heart.  But  wait,  and  the 
soft  tap-tap  of  the  warm  life  within  will  begin  and  the 
little  bird  will  break  its  shell  and  be  ready  for  its 
flights.  It  is  like  a  fairy-tale,  Fraulein — you  will  find 
it  so — the  awakening  of  the  heart  to  love." 

He  was  smiling  at  her,  reassuring  her,  for  he  read 
the  trouble  and  perplexity  on  her  face,  and,  as  if  she 
were  indeed  a  child  to  whom  a  fairy-tale  has  been 
told,  a  wavering  smile,  candid  and  rueful  and  touched, 
answered  him.  And  as  they  sat  in  silence,  looking  at 
each  other,  the  young  girl's  mind,  from  the  heights 
where  far  horizons  opened  about  her,  seemed  to  flut- 
ter down  softly  like  a  falling  bird,  down  from  the 
vastness  and,  as  it  were,  into  the  eyes  of  Herr  Sachs 
looking  at  her.  This  was  not  to  fall  to  nothingness. 
She  remembered  her  poem,  and  its  sadness  was  far 
away.  The  eyes  of  Herr  Sachs  made  her  think  of  a 
nest;  sweetness,  tenderness,  safety;  had  she  ever 
thought  them  ugly?  They  surrounded  and  encom- 
passed her  as  the  soft  grass,  warm,  translucent  with 
sunlight,  waves  above  the  bird.  Over  the  grass  was 
the  summer  sky;  and  strange  words,  unaccustomed 
words,  floated  through  her  mind,  like  the  breeze  blow- 

162 


ing  over  the  harvest :     "  The  peace  of  God  which 
passeth  all  understanding." 

The  silence  had  grown  long.  A  little  pony-car- 
riage, driven  with  a  cheerful  flourish  of  the  whip, 
went  rattling  down  the  street.  Mrs.  Fennamy's 
travelling-clock,  the  clock  which  had  accompanied 
them  on  all  their  travels  and  which  Persis  remem- 
bered since  her  babyhood,  gave  the  soft  premonitory 
cluck  which  was  its  only  symptom  of  age  and  then 
struck  eleven  deliberate,  silvery  notes.  Listening  to 
them  Persis  found  herself  smiling,  for  they  made  her 
think  of  the  sound  of  bells  heard  from  the  meadows. 
All  was  sweet  and  beautiful. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  leaning  towards  the  young 
man,  "  is  that  all  you  care  about — that  other  people 
should  find  each  other  and  be  happy?  You  are  so 
different  from  everybody ;  what  is  it  ?  " 

Herr  Sachs  blushed  now  and  became  again  the  shy, 
ungainly,  ugly  man:  but  she  could  never  again  see 
him  as  that.  "  We  all  wish  those  we  love  to  be 
happy,  do  we  not,  Fraulein." 

"  Do  we  ?  I  don't  know.  I  never  think  about 
people  being  happy.  I  think  so  very  little  about 
other  people,"  said  Persis.  "  You  think  of  them 
all  the  time.  That  is  all  your  life  means.  I  see 
that." 

"  By  no  means,  Fraulein,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  I 
have  my  studies  to  think  of  and  often,  when  I  am 
deep  in  them,  I  forget  that  anything  else  exists." 

"EvenLudwig?" 

163 


THE  ENCOUNTER 


(C 


Even  Ludwig,"  he  answered.  And  now,  after 
their  interlude,  he  led  her  back  again  to  the  purpose 
that  had  brought  him  there.  "Will  you  now  think 
of  Ludwig,  Fraulein,  and  of  what  he  asks  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  will.  I  will  think  of  it  all  day.  I  will 
give  you  my  answer  to-morrow.  Is  that  right  and 
fair?" 

"  Very  right  and  fair,  Fraulein."  He  had  risen 
and,  taking  his  hat  and  crutch,  he  moved  towards  the 
door.  There  he  paused. 

"Am  I  allowed  to  give  one  word  of  advice,  Frau- 
lein?" 

"You  are  allowed  to  say  anything  you  like — for 
ever ! "  Persis  assured  him,  clasping  her  hands  to- 
gether under  her  chin  and  laughing  at  him,  though 
gravely  laughing. 

Her  trust,  her  gaiety,  pleased  and  confused  him,  too, 
she  saw.  He  was  unaware  how  deeply  she  had  come 
to  know  him.  He  blushed  again  as  he  said :  "  That 
is  very  good  of  you,  Fraulein.  Then,  since  I  am  per- 
mitted, I  will  ask  you  not  to  see  Graf  von  Liidenstein 
again  to-day.  Do  not  let  him  come  near  your  de- 
liberations. He  might  harm  them." 

Liidenstein  seemed  indeed  a  wraith.  It  was  an 
easy  promise  to  make. 

"  You  were  very  displeased  with  me  for  having 
talked  to  him,  were  you  not?"  she  said,  as  she  went 
beside  him  to  the  front  door. 

"  Displeased  with  you,  Fraulein  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  felt  that  you  were  quite  angry  with  me 

164 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

when  I  told  you  of  our  talk.     It  almost  frightened 
me." 

Sachs  laughed.  "  I  do  not  think  that  you  are  so 
easily  frightened,  Fraulein!  But,  yes;  I  was  dis- 
pleased." And  his  face  assumed  a  retrospective 
severity  as  he  said :  "  It  was  very  ill  done  of  Graf 
von  Liidenstein,  very  ill  done  indeed." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PERSIS  wandered  out  into  the  garden  and  went 
slowly  down  the  path.  Her  head  was  bent,  her 
eyes  on  the  mossy  stones.  As  she  came  near  the 
grille,  she  heard  her  mother's  voice  inquiring: 
"Well,  Persis?" 

Mrs.  Fennamy  was  sitting  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden  where  the  branches  were  lowest  and  the  grass 
tallest.  Her  little  work-box — another  ancient  mem- 
ory— made  of  plaited  Indian  grass,  which,  after  so 
many  years,  still  kept  the  wild,  sweet  fragrance  of  the 
prairie,  was  beside  her  on  the  table  and  she  was  hem- 
ming, with  her  delicate,  almost  invisible,  stitches,  on 
a  long  strip  of  the  fine  lawn  frilling  that  she  and 
Persis  wore  in  their  dresses. 

Persis,  after  standing  still  in  the  path  for  a  mo- 
ment, turned  aside  into  the  grass  and  joined  her 
mother. 

"  Well  ? "  Mrs.  Fennamy  repeated,  glancing  up  at 
her.  "What  is  it  all  about?  Is  he  mad?" 

It  was  unpleasant  to  have  these  surmises  of  the 
morning  recalled  at  such  a  moment.  Persis  put  them 
aside  with  a  slight  impatience.  "  He  is  not  at  all 
mad,"  she  said.  She  took  a  chair  on  the  other  side 
of  the  table,  and,  leaning  her  elbows  on  it  and  her 

166 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

head  in  her  hands,  she  looked  down  at  the  Indian  grass 
basket  as  she  went  on :  "  He  is  very  beautiful  and 
strange.  He  wants  me  to  marry  him.  It  was  that 
Herr  Sachs  came  to  ask  me." 

As  she  spoke  she  lifted  her  eyes  and  rested  them 
on  her  mother.  There  was  no  appeal  or  shyness  in 
them.  If  they  held  an  underlying  anxiety  it  was  un- 
conscious. Yet  Mrs.  Fennamy  read  in  them  uncer- 
tainty and  questioning  and  hope. 

"  Gracious ! "  she  said,  mildly,  after  a  moment. 
She  was  aware  that  by  an  effort  of  will  she  con- 
trolled the  rise  of  her  colour.  She  continued  to 
stitch. 

Persis  flushed  faintly.  "  It  is  very  quick,  certainly ; 
but  not  exactly  surprising,  mamma.  From  the  first 
moment  there  was  a  deep  congeniality  between  us, 
was  n't  there  ?  " 

"  Was  there  ?  I  should  n't  have  called  it  that, 
exactly.  I  saw  he  was  very  much  struck  with  you, 
of  course.  They  all  were.  But  that 's  not  congeni- 
ality, necessarily,  is  it  ?  No ;  I  should  n't  have  said, 
somehow,  that  you  were  congenial.  Just  see  if  my 
scissors  are  in  the  basket,  dear;  I  can't  find  them." 
Mrs.  Fennamy  felt  among  the  turmoil  of  lawn  upon 
her  lap. 

The  scissors  were  in  the  basket  and  Persis,  extract- 
ing them  and  handing  them  to  her  mother,  asked,  with 
an  assumed  nonchalance,  "  Why,  pray  ?  "  as  she  did 
so. 

"  Well,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  snipped  away  a  scrap  of 
167 


lawn,  "  you  're  both  so  set  on  your  own  ways  for  one 
thing." 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  our  ways  should  not  be 
the  same." 

"  No ;  perhaps  not.  He  takes  things,  I  should  say, 
much  harder  than  you  do;  little  things,  I  mean. 
He's  such  a  nervous  man."  Mrs.  Fennamy  did  not 
ask:  Do  you  really  think  of  marrying  him? — but 
this  was  the  question  thudding  at  her  heart. 

"  He  is  a  very  great  man,  mamma,  and  a  very  great 
genius.  I  have  always  felt  that  I  should  not  care  to 
marry  at  all  unless  it  could  be  some  one  like  that. 
Don't  imagine  that  I  'm  blind  to  the  foibles — and  even 
follies,  if  you  like — there  are  in  him.  All  geniuses, 
I  imagine,  have  foibles  and  follies.  The  question  is 
— what  have  they  besides?  You  can  see,  of  course, 
that  he  is  as  different  from  the  ordinary  man  as  an 
eagle  is  from  a  gander.  And  he  thinks  me  remark- 
able, too.  I  could  help  him  in  his  work.  My  criti- 
cism would  be  of  real  value  to  him.  I  can't  imagine 
a  more  interesting  life." 

Mrs.  Fennamy  listened  carefully.  "  I  don't  know 
about  criticism.  He  '11  want  you  to  accept  everything 
he  says  and  admire  him  for  it.  I  expect  the  reason 
he  quarrels  with  his  friends  is  that  they  won't  agree 
with  him." 

"  He  knows  that  I  could  not  tolerate  any  relation 
that  did  not  leave  me  complete  independence.  Our 
friendship  has  made  that  clear  to  him  already." 

"  Are  you  sure  he  knows  it  ?  The  way  he  treats  a 

168 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

friend  will  be  different  from  the  way  he  '11  treat  his 
wife.  I  've  always  found  that  Germans  think  of  their 
wives  as  pillows,  and  that 's  what  he  wants — some- 
thing soothing  and  restful  and  always  there  to  turn  to 
when  things  go  wrong."  Mrs.  Fennamy  seemed 
mildly  to  surmise  rather  than  to  oppose. 

Persis  had  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  folded  her 
arms.  "  I  don't  think  so  ill  of  Ludwig  as  that,"  she 
said. 

"  I  don't  see  that  it 's  to  think  ill  of  him  at  all," 
Mrs.  Fennamy  rejoined.  "A  man  of  that  sort 
does  n't  want  a  critic  in  his  wife  or  some  one  who  will 
tell  him  what  his  faults  are  or  point  out  his  mistakes 
to  him.  He  '11  hear  all  that  fast  enough  from  outsid- 
ers. What  he  wants  is  some  one  who  can  pretend  not 
to  see  what  outsiders  see,  who  can  pretend  to  be  satis- 
fied with  him  and  think  he  's  all  right  when  he  's  hurt 
and  bothered  and  suspects  things  about  himself; 
who  '11  give  him  confidence  enough  in  himself  to  go 
on  with.  He  may  not  know  it 's  what  he  wants  now, 
when  he's  so  in  love  with  you;  but  it  is.  And 
you  don't  strike  me  as  one  bit  that  kind  of  a 
woman,  Persis,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  finished  dispassion- 
ately. 

Persis  sat  still,  gazing  down  at  the  grass.  "  I  cer- 
tainly could  not  love  a  man  who  was  too  stupid  to  see 
his  own  faults,"  she  remarked  presently. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy,  as  dispassionately  as 
before,  "  that 's  being  rather  cruel,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it,  because  hardly  anybody  does  see  their  own 

169 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

faults.  That 's  what  I  mean  by  saying  that  you  're 
not  the  kind  of  woman  he  needs." 

"  I  could  not  love  a  man,  then,  who  was  not  able 
or  willing  to  recognise  his  faults  when  they  were 
pointed  out  to  him.  That  is  not  cruel." 

"  It 's  not  very  loving." 

"  But,  mamma,  I  should  accept  criticism  from  those 
I  loved.  Why  should  I  not  expect  them  to  accept 
mine?  All  that  I  am  asking  is  that  I  should  be  al- 
lowed to  love.  And  I  do  not  believe  what  you  say  of 
Ludwig.  Already  he  has  told  me  that  I  am  his  better 
self." 

"  Perhaps  he  '11  go  on  thinking  so  when  you  thwart 
him.  My  impression  of  him  is  that  the  one  thing  he 
can't  accept  is  criticism." 

They  were  silent  for  a  little  while  after  this,  and 
then  Persis  presented  another  aspect  of  the  case. 
"  Besides,  mamma,"  she  said,  "  Ludwig  is  n't  asking 
me  to  be  his  wife  in  that  sense,  at  all.  He  is  really 
asking  for  the  things  you  imagine  he  rejects — com- 
radeship, equality,  mutual  independence.  You  don't, 
in  the  least,  appreciate  his  beauty  and  generosity.  He 
has  let  me  understand  that  it  is  for  me  to  determine 
the  conditions  of  our  union.  He  knows  my  dislike  of 
the  idea  of  marriage.  I  mean,"  she  added,  as  she  saw 
her  mother's  face  change  and  a  more  marked  gravity 
fixed  upon  her,  "  he  is  in  love  with  me  but  he  does  not 
ask  me  to  be  in  love  with  him.  Love  is  all  he  asks; 
not  wifehood.  I  think  it  very  beautiful  of  him." 

Mrs.  Fennamy,  with  a  slight  constriction  of  the  lips, 

170 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

remained  silent  for  a  moment,  and  again  Persis  felt 
her  colour  rise  as  if  before  an  unexpected  rebuff. 

"  I  expect  I  like  everyday,  ordinary  men  who  are 
in  love  in  an  everyday  way  better,"  Mrs.  Fennamy 
remarked  at  last,  and  Persis  was  aware  that  the  words 
understated  her  thoughts,  and  were  carefully  chosen. 
"  I  don't  seem  to  understand  a  man  very  well  who  can 
carry  generosity  as  far  as  that.  I  'd  feel  he  could  n't 
be  in  love  himself,  I  expect." 

"  I  don't  think  that  you  do  understand  Ludwig, 
mamma.  I  don't  think  that  you  're  capable  of  under- 
standing him." 

"  I  expect  I  'm  not,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  acquiesced, 
without  any  irony;  and  in  a  voice  that  accepted  all 
fantastical  interpretations  she  went  on :  "  Is  that 
why  he  went  away,  because  he  could  n't  ask  you  him- 
self?" 

"  Yes.  He  is  very  sensitive ;  very  over-strung." 
Persis  spoke  with  a  certain  dryness,  rising  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Well,  if  what  he  asks  is  comradeship,  why  should 
you  marry  him  at  all  ?  "  her  mother  inquired.  "  You 
don't  need  to  marry  a  man  to  study  his  works." 

Persis,  passing  her  hands  over  the  back  of  the  chair 
as  she  stood  above  it,  glanced  at  her  with  now  ap- 
parent uncertainty.  Was  this  not,  after  all,  the  crux 
of  the  situation? 

"  He  has  n't  asked  for  anything  more,  so  why 
should  you  give  him  anything  more  ?  "  Mrs.  Fennamy 
pursued,  though  without  urgency. 

171 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  But  he  wants  me  to  be  always  there.  He  wants 
me  to  live  with  him." 

"  Well,  why  should  n't  he  see  as  much  of  you  as  he 
likes?" 

"  You  mean  that  he  could  travel  about  with  us  ?  " 

"Why  I  suppose  he  might  just  as  well.  People 
will  know  that  you  could  marry  him  if  you  wanted  to ; 
so  there  couldn't  be  very  much  made  of  it.  All  I 
mean  is  that  if  you're  not  in  love  with  him  I  don't 
see  why  you  should  marry  him." 

"  No ;  I  am  not  in  love  with  him,"  said  Persis,  look- 
ing down  thoughtfully  at  her  hands  which  she  still 
passed  to  and  fro  over  the  chill  tin  top  of  the  chair. 
"  No ;  I  certainly  am  not  in  love  with  Ludwig."  She 
was  thinking  of  her  love  for  Prince  Marco,  that  hid- 
den love  which  no  one  in  the  world,  not  even  this 
shrewd  little  mother,  had  dreamed  of. 

If  that  had  been  to  be  in  love,  she  certainly  was  not 
in  love  with  Ludwig. 

Mrs.  Fennamy  continued  to  sew.  She  was  very 
sorry  for  Persis.  She  could  not  blame  herself.  She 
had  denied  herself  any  frank  expression  of  her  dis- 
may, though  she  could  not  go  so  far  as  to  pretend  to 
Persis  that  she  saw  beauty  where,  in  fact,  she  saw 
only  weakness  and  absurdity.  Yet  it  was  as  if,  in 
happy  confidence,  her  child  had  come  to  her  holding  a 
jewel  on  her  open  palm  for  her  admiration,  and  as  if 
she  had  commented,  glancing  at  it :  "  Paste.  I 
would  n't  have  it  if  I  were  you." 

"  Well,  I  must  think,"  Persis  said  at  last,  lifting  her 

172 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

hands.  "  I  will  go  up  to  the  woods.  I  don't  wan? 
any  lunch." 

"Just  buy  some  fruit  and  a  roll,  then,  as  you  go 
down  the  street,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  suggested.  "  You  '11 
get  so  hungry  after  your  walk." 

"  Yes ;  I  '11  get  some  fruit,"  Persis  acquiesced,  mov- 
ing away. 

"  I  'm  sure  you  '11  do  just  what  you  feel  best  about 
Herr  Wehlitz,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  added  as  Persis  opened 
the  grille. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  treasure  was  spoiled;  the  jewel  had  been 
pronounced  paste;  what  had  been  troubled 
surmise  was  now  clear  vision.  She  saw  how  it  had 
been  spoiled,  and  why.  It  was  as  if,  to  return  to  the 
first  metaphor,  her  mother  had  said :  "  You  see,  the 
shoes  are  painted,  and  no  really  good  doll  has  painted 
shoes."  The  flaw  lay  deep  in  the  fact,  now  recog- 
nised, that  there  was  in  this  proposal  of  Ludwig's  no 
romance  and  no  passion;  benevolence,  no  doubt,  and 
beauty ;  but  it  had  been  the  possibility  of  romance  that, 
if  it  had  disturbed,  had  also  thrilled  her. 

She  saw  now  that  there  had  been  no  need  for  dis- 
turbance, no  occasion  for  a  thrill,  and  as  she  moved 
slowly  away  from  her  mother  she  knew  that  she  did 
not  intend  to  marry  Ludwig.  As  her  mother  had 
said,  you  did  not  need  to  marry  a  man  in  order  to 
study  his  works. 

There  was  something  else,  too,  but  this  she  could 
not  see  so  clearly.  It  lay,  half-hidden,  under  all  her 
thoughts  that  afternoon,  as  she  wandered  in  the  beech- 
woods,  like  the  slightly  malicious  twinkle  of  a  gold- 
fish in  a  pool  of  water.  Herr  Sachs  had  shown  her 
beauty;  but  was  it  not,  mainly,  his  own?  Her 
mother  had  shown  her  something  else. 

174 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

A  flash  and  turn  of  irony  passed  and  repassed  as 
she  contemplated  Ludwig  and  his  wooing. 

Herr  Sachs  came  on  the  stroke  of  ten  next  morning 
and  Persis,  as  she  entered  the  sitting-room  where  he 
waited  for  her,  saw  that  he  had  come  full  of  hope. 

"  I  have  my  answer,"  she  said,  giving  him  her 
hand ;  and  she  knew  that  there  was  a  certain  fictitious 
buoyancy  in  her  demeanour  which  he,  no  doubt,  could 
penetrate.  "  I  don't  think  that  it  will  displease  you," 
— she  had  rehearsed  what  she  was  to  say  in  the  beech- 
woods — "  when  you  have  heard  it  all ;  for  it  is  a 
rather  long  answer.  I  cannot  marry  Ludwig;  but  I 
think  that  I  can  make  him  happy.  I  want  to  devote 
myself  to  him  and  to  his  work.  I  have  told  mamma 
he  is  to  come  with  us  wherever  we  go — at  any  time 
and  for  as  long  as  he  likes.  I  don't  trouble  about 
conventions,  and  I  know  that  he  will  not.  And  be- 
sides, mamma  will  be  with  us;  you  too,  I  hope,  Herr 
Sachs,  for  I  cannot  imagine  Ludwig  parted  from  you. 
You  see,  there  is  really  no  reason  at  all  why  we  should 
marry;  we  are  both  independent,  and  can  do  as  we 
like,  and  though  we  love  each  other  very  truly,  we 
are  neither  of  us  in  love."  Under  the  growing  grav- 
ity of  Herr  Sachs's  regard  she  heard  herself  speaking 
more  quickly  and  with  a  little  confusion,  and  she  fin- 
ished rather  lamely,  forgetting  what  she  had  meant  to 
say  at  the  last.  "  That  is  really  what  he  wanted 
most,  I  believe — the  right  to  be  with  me  constantly, 
and  to  know  that  I  am  devoted  to  him." 

All  this  time  she  had  been  holding  Herr  Sachs's 
175 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

hand,  and  now,  though  instinctively  she  tried  to  re- 
tain it,  he  drew  it  away  and  leaned  on  the  table,  look- 
ing down  in  silence  at  the  floor  between  them.  And 
after  a  little  pause,  not  raising  his  eyes,  he  said: 
"  You  are  mistaken,  Fraulein.  Ludwig  is  in  love 
with  you." 

The  memory  of  her  mother's  glance  returned  to 
her.  "  Oh  no,  Herr  Sachs !  Really  he  is  not,"  she 
admonished  him,  smiling  slightly. 

Herr  Sachs's  eyes  were  upon  her,  penetrating  her. 
They  seemed  to  see  more  than  she  was  herself  aware 
of,  though  she  was  aware  that  she  hid  something  from 
him.  "  But  I  say  yes,  Fraulein.  He  is  in  love  with 
you.  Why  do  you  contradict  me  ?  " 

"  A  man  who  is  in  love  does  not  send  another  man 
to  plead  his  cause." 

Yes;  this  is  what  her  mother's  glance  had  said, 
though  it  had  said  more  besides. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  to  me,  Fraulein,  when  I  tell 
you  that  it  is  not  true  ?  " 

"  He  has  asked  only  for  comradeship.  Why  should 
the  question  of  marriage  arise  at  all  ?  " 

"  Ludwig  hopes  for  more  than  comradeship.  It 
was  what  you  said  of  your  disdain  of  marriage,  in  the 
Kur-Garten,  that  made  him  unwilling  to  burden  you 
with  his  hopes.  Signorina  Zardo  pressed  upon  him 
that  you  might  misunderstand  his  generosity;  Lud- 
wig believed  you  would  not  misunderstand.  He  be- 
lieved that  you  were  not  as  other  women." 

Under  his  severity  she  saw  dismay,  yet  the  severity 

176 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

was  disconcerting.  "  Are  you  angry  witH  me  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  I  cannot  help  it  if  he  has  not  been  able  to 
make  me  feel  that  he  is  in  love  with  me." 

"  No,  Fraulein,  no,"  said  Sachs,  looking  away  from 
her.  "  I  do  not  understand  your  manner  this  morn- 
ing, but  it  is  with  myself  that  I  am  angry.  I  have 
been  stupid.  I  have  failed  to  make  you  understand 
my  friend."  His  face  was  sad  and  careworn,  altered, 
indeed,  from  its  first  eager  hope,  and  Persis  replied 
with  urgency: 

"  That  is  not  so ;  I  am  sure  it  is  not  so.  What  I 
feel  is  that  you  make  me  understand  him  far  better 
than  he  could  himself.  I  am  sure  that  you  do.  He 
is  so  vehement  and  so  sensitive.  I  might  have  hurt 
him  and  he  might  have  exasperated  me.  As  it  is, 
through  you,  I  see  his  generosity  clearly." 

But  Sachs  still  stood  looking  on  the  ground,  as  if 
discouraged  beyond  words. 

"  I  will  try  to  make  him  happy,"  Persis  went  on. 
"  I  know  that  I  can  make  him  happy.  We  will  be  the 
best  and  most  loyal  of  friends ;  and  we  will  study  and 
I  shall  understand  all  that  he  writes  and  help  him. 
Please  see  it  as  I  do.  Ludwig  and  I  are  not  like  other 
people.  We  are  in  a  different  world.  Let  other  peo- 
ple marry.  Tell  him  that  I  say  that." 

"  I  will  tell  him  what  you  say,  Fraulein,"  said 
Sachs,  moving  towards  the  door.  "  But  what  I  see  is 
that  you  do  not  love  Ludwig  as  he  loves  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Wait.  Please  wait.  It 's 
as  if  you  blamed  me.  If  what  you  say  is  true — if  I 

177 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

do  not  love  him  as  he  loves  me — what  do  you  ask  me 
to  do?  What  do  you  think  that  it  would  be  right  for 
me  to  do  ?  " 

He  paused,  half  turning  to  her,  and  stood  trying, 
she  saw,  to  see  his  way  through  his  pain,  perplexity 
and  doubt.  Then,  after  a  moment,  not  lifting  his 
eyes,  he  said:  "If  you  do  not  love  him  as  he  loves 
you,  would  it  not  be  best  that  he  should  not  come  back, 
Fraulein — that  you  should  not  see  him  again  ?  " 

A  deep  dismay  filled  Persis.  "  Not  see  him  again  ? 
I  must  break  my  friendship  with  Ludwig  because  I 
am  not  in  love  with  him?"  She  gazed  at  the  young 
man  almost  aghast. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Sachs,  knitting  his  brows. 
"  I  do  not  know.  It  is  for  you  to  say.  I  only  ask, 
if  you  cannot  marry  him,  would  it  not  be  best  that 
you  should  part?" 

"But  why?  Why  should  we  part?  If  I  am  to 
devote  my  life  to  him?  " 

"  You  say  it,  Fraulein,  but  I  do  not  feel  that  you 
realize  the  seriousness  of  your  promise.  I  do  not  feel 
you  realize  you  are  taking  another's  life  into  your 
hands.  You  will  not  play  with  it  ?  " 

"Play  with  it?" 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers.  There  was  no  sternness 
in  them ;  only  deep  anxiety.  "  Yes,  Fraulein ;  like  a 
toy." 

Her  tears  rose.  She  was  keenly  hurt.  No  one  had 
ever  had  the  power  to  hurt  her  so  much.  "You 
think  me  so  shallow,  so  cruel,  so  childish,"  she 

178 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

said.  "  And  I  thought  that  you  were  fond  of 
me " 

He  contemplated  her,  singularly  detached,  indeed, 
for  a  young  man  who  had  the  day  before  confessed 
to  Schwdrmerei.  "  I  should  still  be  fond  of  you, 
Fraulein,  if  you  were  shallow  and  cruel  and  childish," 
he  said.  "  But  it  is  not  that.  I  accuse  you  of  none 
of  these  things.  I  do  not,  nor  do  you  yourself,  know 
what  you  are.  But  is  it  not  true  that  a  woman,  think- 
ing she  means  kindness  towards  the  man  whose  love 
has  disappointed  her,  may  mean  cruelty?  And  is  it 
not  true  that  what  to  Ludwig  would  be  life  or  death, 
to  you  might  be  an  interlude  of  life  only,  an  amuse- 
ment, a  distraction?  I  do  not  know.  It  is  for  you 
to  say." 

She  was  displeased  by  some  intimation  in  this 
speech,  and  though  a  faint  fear,  caught  from  his  grav- 
ity, rose  in  her,  she  dismissed  it  with  the  thought  that 
Herr  Sachs  could  be  naif.  With  that  worshipful  re- 
gard and  care  they  all — and  by  all  she  meant  Herr 
Sachs  and  Eleanora — surrounded  Ludwig!  It  was  a 
little  ludicrous  as  well  as  a  little  belittling,  to  Ludwig 
himself.  What  did  he  mean  by  disappointed? 

Her  underlying  displeasure  betrayed  itself.  "  You 
cannot  think  me  disappointed  in  Ludwig's  love,"  she 
said,  and  dryly,  "  since  it  was  love,  in  the  usual  sense 
of  the  word,  that  made  my  first  difficulty.  Ludwig 
very  nobly  has  removed  that,  and  I  do  not  think  that 
Ludwig's  trust  in  me  is  misplaced.  You  seem  to  think 
so — no,  please  let  me  go  on.  I  know  that  you  do  not 

179 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

mean  to  be  unkind;  but  you  say  very  strange  things. 
I  can't  send  him  away.  That  would  be  cruelty,  if  you 
like,  a  priggish  cruelty.  What  would  Ludwig  think 
of  me  if  I  refused  to  see  him  again  because  he  has 
asked  to  spend  his  life  with  me?  You  must  see  that  it 
would  be  ridiculous.  It  would  only  be  wise  if  what 
you  seem  to  think  of  me  is  true." 

"  No,  no,  Fraulein,"  he  was  able  now  to  stammer, 
for  she  had  brought  him  to  some  confusion.  "  I  do 
not  think  it  of  you.  I  only  asked  you  to  be  very  sure 
of  yourself  before  you  went  forward." 

She  could  now  afford  to  smile  at  him.  "  But  I  am 
sure  of  myself.  I  am  not  a  cruel  and  shallow  child. 
I  do  not  say  that  it  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  me 
— I  cannot  think  that  it  is  that  to  Ludwig  either — I 
cannot  think  that  he  is  as  brittle  and  as  unreasonable 
as  you  imagine.  But  it  certainly  will  not  be  a  diver- 
sion or  an  interlude.  I  can  be  a  true  friend  to  Lud- 
wig. Tell  him  so.  Tell  him  that  I  am  going  to  show 
him  what  such  a  friendship  can  be.  You  know,  you 
Germans  don't  really  believe  in  friendships  between 
men  and  women,  nor  understand  them." 

She  almost  expected  him  to  recognize  the  element 
of  patronage  in  her  words  and  to  be  offended  by  it; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  though  still  anxious,  he  seemed 
to  listen  very  carefully,  and  almost,  as  it  were,  with 
a  renewal  of  hope.  "  Perhaps  that  is  true,  Fraulein," 
he  said  when  she  had  finished,  disconcerting  her  some- 
what, although  she  believed,  indeed,  that  it  was  true. 
"  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  am  a  German  and  very 

180 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ignorant,  moreover,  of  many  things  which,  to  people 
more  experienced,  are  plain.  Not  that  I  can  think 
that  you  understand  Ludwig  as  I  do.  It  will  be  a 
great  blow  to  him,  a  great  grief,  to  hear  that  you  will 
not  marry  him.  But  it  may  be  true  that  through  your 
friendship  you  will  be  able  to  make  him  happy." 

He  had  now  opened  the  door,  and  his  gentleness  and 
sincerity  made  her  feel  compunction;  renewing,  too, 
the  stir  of  fear  within  her.  Did  he,  perhaps,  after  all, 
understand  Ludwig  better  than  she  did?  And  did 
she  realize,  after  all,  what  it  was  that  she  was  under- 
taking? In  any  case  it  was  impossible  to  face  the 
trenchant  alternative  he  put  before  her.  "  I  promise 

you — I  promise  you "  she  reiterated,  giving  him 

her  hand.  She  did  not  quite  know  what  she  promised, 
but  she  felt  that  she  owed  something  to  Herr  Sachs 
and  that  she  must  not  disappoint  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SIGNORINA  ZARDO  returned  to  Tannenkreuz 
the  following  afternoon,  and  came  into  the  Fen- 
namys*  sitting-room  at  tea-time.  It  was  hard  for  her 
to  confront  Annetta  after  the  swift  overthrow  of  her 
hopes;  and  Mrs.  Fennamy  read  embarrassment  in  the 
deep  melancholy  of  her  gaze.  Travel-worn  and  dusty, 
she  sank  down  on  a  chair  beside  the  table,  shaking  her 
head  to  the  offer  of  tea  and  keeping  a  silence  that 
combined  reproach  and  stubbornness. 

"  This  has  all  been  very  sudden,  has  n't  it,  Elea- 
nora?"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy,  in  a  kindly  if  not  a  com- 
passionate voice.  "  And  I  'm  afraid  you  're  tired  out, 
rushing  about  with  Herr  Wehlitz  as  you  have  been 
doing.  Has  he  come  back  with  you  ?  " 

Persis  asked  no  question,  but  her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  Eleanora. 

"No,  he  has  not  come  back  with  me,"  said  Elea- 
nora. "  He  is  walking,  walking  in  the  mountains." 
And  after  a  pause  she  added :  "  He  takes  it  bravely. 
But  he  has  received  a  blow  from  which  it  will  take 
him  time  to  recover." 

"  Well,  there  was  no  reason  exactly  why  he  should 
expect  anything  else,  was  there  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Fennamy, 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

since  Persis  kept  silence.  "  He  had  no  reason  for 
thinking  Persis  was  in  love  with  him.  It  seems  to 
me  it 's  all  ended  just  as  comfortably  as  it  could  pos- 
sibly have  ended." 

"  No ;  he  had  no  reason  to  think  Persis  was  in  love 
with  him,"  Eleanora  echoed  with  bitterness,  "  and  I 
much  doubt  whether  the  man  lives  who  ever  will  have 
reason  to  think  so.  If  Ludwig  Wehlitz  cannot  win 
love  from  her,  why,  indeed,  should  we  expect  at  any 
time  to  see  her  wedded?  Well,  let  the  proud  heart 
retain  its  solitude.  Some  of  us,  who  are  not  proud, 
could  whisper  that  the  time  comes  when  solitude  be- 
comes a  presence,  a  spectre,  that  we  could  give  all  we 
have  to  exorcise." 

Eleanora  and  Persis  often  engaged  in  this  one-sided 
sparring.  Secure  of  Eleanora's  heart  as  she  knew 
herself  to  be,  Persis  rarely  took  more  part  in  it  than  to 
maintain  her  air  of  quiet  attentiveness  or  now  and 
then  to  interpose  an  ironic  comment.  She  thought  of 
Eleanora,  indeed,  as  if  she  were  another  girl,  but  a 
more  immature,  more  extravagant  girl  than  she  had 
ever  felt  herself  to  be,  and,  oddly  enough,  though  she 
had  far  more  respect  for  Eleanora's  intelligence  than 
for  her  mother's,  she  thought  always  of  her  mother  as 
a  being  apart  from  these  disputes,  too  old  for  them, 
and,  in  a  sense,  too  wise  for  them.  Her  mother  would 
never  jeopardize  a  cause  she  had  at  heart  by  wrangling 
over  it. 

She  vouchsafed  no  answer  now  to  her  foolish  old 
friend,  although  she  was  feeling  some  anxiety.  Lud- 

183 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

wig  must  have  sent  her  some  message,  and  she  could 
not  but  wonder  what  it  might  be. 

"  I  don't  believe  Herr  Wehlitz  and  Persis  could 
have  made  each  other  happy,  Eleanora,"  Mrs.  Fen- 
namy  now  took  up  with  her  complete  dispassionate- 
ness. "  He 's  such  an  excitable  man.  Just  see  the 
way  he  behaved  that  day  at  tea  over  Graf  von  Liiden- 
stein's  visit  to  us.  Why,  it  made  you  feel  as  embar- 
rassed as  could  be  to  see  a  man  behave  like  that !  And 
Persis,  as  you  know  well  enough,  is  n't  a  bit  the  sort  of 
girl  to  put  up  with  things.  I  suppose  you've  heard 
what  she  's  going  to  do  for  him.  I  don't  see  that  he 
has  any  cause  to  complain.  He  is  going  to  be  a  sort 
of  son  and  brother  to  us  and  travel  about  with  us. 
You'd  better  come  along,  too,  Eleanora — and  little 
Herr  Sachs,  I  suppose.  We  shall  be  a  circus !  " 

"  Yes.  I  have  heard  from  Ludwig  of  the  strange 
life  that  you  have  arranged  for  him,"  said  Eleanora. 

"  I  did  n't  arrange  it,  Eleanora.  It  was  n't  ar- 
ranged for  my  convenience,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy  in 
mild  disclaimer.  "  It 's  not  the  sort  of  life  I  'd  have 
chosen  for  myself  or  for  Persis.  And  it  seems  to  me 
it 's  doing  a  good  deal  for  a  man  you  're  not  in  love 
with.  I  was  trying  to  explain  it  to  Lady  Frere  this 
morning  when  she  asked  me  what  had  happened — the 
pension  is  just  as  excited  as  can  be  about  it  all.  I  told 
her  the  whole  thing  quietly,  and  it  made  her  look 
pretty  dull  and  thick,  as  though  I  'd  put  a  batter  pud- 
ding into  her  mouth  and  she  could  n't  swallow  it." 

Despite  herself,  a  sickly  smile  flickered  for  a  mo- 

184 


THE  ENCOUNTER' 

ment  on  Eleanora's  cheek  at  this  picture  of  Lady 
Frere's  speechless  disapprobation.  "  The  dolorous 
Philistine !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  will  keep  her  quiet 
— the  batter  pudding!  But  what  have  the  Philistines 
themselves  to  say  against  such  an  arrangement? 
Does  it  not  do  honour  to  all  concerned  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  you  can  see  it  like  that,  Elea- 
nora." 

"  And  you,  Persis,"  Eleanora  now  turned  her  gaze 
on  the  young  girl — "  What  have  you  to  say  ?  You 
do  not  ask  after  Ludwig?  Do  you  not  wish  to  know 
if  he  has  sent  you  any  message?" 

"  Very  much  indeed,  Eleanora,"  said  Persis.  "  But 
since  you  gave  none,  I  supposed  that  he  must  have 
written." 

"  No ;  he  has  not  written.  He  cannot  write,"  said 
Eleanora.  "Nor  will  he  speak  of  this  again.  But 
what  he  asks  me  to  say  to  you  is  that  he  thanks  you. 
'  Tell  her  ' — these  were  his  words — '  tell  her  that  we 
are  worthy  one  of  the  other.'  You  should  feel 
crowned,  Persis,  by  such  devotion." 

"  I  am  very  glad  indeed  to  hear  that  Ludwig  under- 
stands mine,"  said  Persis.  She  had  finished  her  tea, 
and  she  presently  got  up  and  left  them.  It  was  then 
that  Eleanora  leaned  forward  to  her  friend  and  said 
in  low  tragic  tones :  "  Had  he  been  less  generous, 
less  unselfish,  he  would  have  won  her !  I  warned  him 
of  it!" 

"  Now,  what  do  you  mean  by  that,  Eleanora  ? " 
Mrs.  Fennamy  inquired,  unfolding  her  work.  "  I  do 

185 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

wish  you  would  n't  take  everything  so  hard.  You  see, 
they're  both  perfectly  satisfied." 

"  Perfectly  satisfied.  Both  perfectly  satisfied ! " 
Eleanora  repeated,  while  the  tears  came  thickly  to  her 
eyes.  She  brushed  her  handkerchief  over  them. 
"  Have  I  not  seen  him  and  read  his  despair  and  his 
humiliation?  Do  not  pretend  to  misunderstand  me! 
You  know,  I  am  sure,  the  terms  in  which  he  asked 
her  hand." 

"  Well,  but  if  he  'd  asked  in  any  other  terms  every- 
thing would  have  been  over  between  them,  wouldn't 
it?  You  know  that  Persis  can't  bear  the  idea  of  get- 
ting married.  You  know  when  she  was  only  sixteen 
and  we  explained  to  her  about  things  when  she  was 
getting  worried,  how  she  took  it.  And  you  remem- 
ber how  she  said  she  agreed  with  every  word  Tolstoi 
said  about  it.  Why,  I  could  see  perfectly  well,  when 
she  told  me  about  Herr  Wehlitz,  that  it  was  just  that 
that  made  her  feel  fondest  of  him." 

"  So  you  say !  So  she  may  think ! "  said  Eleanora, 
still  in  her  low  tones  and  unwinding  the  scarf  that  was 
twisted  round  her  neck.  "  But  you  do  not  deceive 
me  into  believing  for  one  moment,  Annetta,  that  you 
take  seriously  the  first  revolt  of  a  young  creature 
against  the  natural  ordering  of  life." 

"  Well,  no ;  I  don't  think  I  do  take  it  very  seriously 
— at  all  events,  I  shouldn't  think  it  was  to  be  reck- 
oned with  if  the  right  man  came  along.  Everything 
gets  so  simple  when  that  happens.  I  was  just  like 
Persis  myself,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  remarked,  "  and  re- 

186 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

fused  lots  of  men  and  just  hated  them  for  having 
asked  me;  but  the  moment  Christopher  Fennamy 
came,  I  never  gave  all  that  another  thought.  So  I  do 
understand  the  way  Persis  feels." 

Eleanora  had  gazed  at  her,  still  darkly,  while  she 
diagnosed  the  case,  but  now,  putting  out  her  hand,  she 
took  a  cake  and  began  to  eat  it.  Mrs.  Fennamy,  with- 
out comment  on  this  yielding,  leaned  forward  at  once 
to  pour  her  out  a  cup  of  coffee.  "  You  see,  Eleanora, 
she  is  n't  one  speck  in  love  with  him ;  that 's  the  trou- 
ble," she  said. 

But  Eleanora  seemed  to  have  received  some  inner 
sustainment.  Her  face  had  resumed  its  more  normal 
expression  of  anxious,  watchful  hope. 

"  Persis's  father,  when  he  came  to  you,  came  as  a 
wooer,  did  he  not,  Annetta?"  she  said,  stirring  her 
coffee.  "  That  has  been  my  poor  Ludwig's  great  mis- 
take. A  woman  does  not  know  what  she  feels  for  a 
man  until  she  has  seen  him  as  her  wooer." 

Mrs.  Fennamy  eyed  her.  "  So  you  think  he  has  n't 
given  up  hope,  yet  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  do  not  say  what  I  think,  Annetta,"  Eleanora 
replied.  "And,  indeed,  it  may  with  truth  be  said 
that  I  think  nothing.  But  I  feel,  I  still  feel,  all  is  not 
yet  at  an  end." 


CHAPTER  XVH 

LUDWIG  did  not  return  for  four  days,  and  when 
he  and  Persis  met  again,  in  the  little  sitting- 
room,  it  was,  on  both  sides,  with  a  natural  embarrass- 
ment. His,  from  his  attempt  to  conceal  it,  was  the 
more  apparent,  and  she  was  almost  disconcerted  by 
the  veil  of  artificiality  he  drew  between  them.  She 
had  felt  her  colour  rise  as  she  entered  to  welcome  him, 
an  unwonted  tenderness  filling  her,  and  pity  for  his 
imagined  pain;  but  she  was  met  by  no  appeal  and  by 
no  tenderness ;  by  authority,  rather,  and  a  disciplinary- 
terseness,  as,  turning  at  once  from  their  hand-clasp, 
to  the  piled-up  books,  he  said:  "And  now,  to 
work." 

A  sense  of  depression  fell  upon  Persis  while  she 
obediently  took  her  place  before  him  at  the  other  side 
of  the  table.  She  could  understand  that  his  satisfac- 
tion with  the  situation  was  feigned,  yet  she  wondered 
whether  he  were  not  feeling  resentment  against  her, 
and  whether,  with  it,  there  did  not  mingle  a  vein  of 
relief.  She  was  there,  waiting,  obedient,  affianced  to 
his  cause.  To  have  entered  upon  a  reciprocated  love- 
affair  might  well  have  been  a  cataclysm  from  which, 
however  blissful,  his  fragile  nerves  had  shrunk.  He 
did  not,  however,  look  physically  as  fragile  as  when 

188 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

they  had  parted.  The  mountain  walks  had  browned 
his  temples  and  his  form  was  more  erect.  He  seemed 
conscious  of  bravery  in  his  acceptance  of  his  defeat 
and  there  was  a  new  emphasis  in  his  ceremonial  dig- 
nity, his  military  deliberation  and  alertness.  All  this 
she  saw,  finding  it  all  slightly  ridiculous,  while  at  the 
same  time  she  could  not  defend  herself  from  feeling, 
at  moments,  a  little  in  awe  of  the  new  Ludwig,  the 
dark,  austere  man,  who,  with  knitted  brow  and  scru- 
tinizing eye,  looked  at  her  from  across  the  table  and 
repeated,  wringing  at  the  end  of  his  moustache,  "  You 
understand  what  I  say,  Persis  ?  " 

She  did  not,  at  first,  understand;  she  seemed  to 
understand  less  than  before  this  strange  interlude  of 
phantasmal  wooing;  and  sometimes  when  her  mind 
groped  in  bewilderment  among  the  fierce,  flashing 
lights  he  threw  about  her,  a  half  entranced  Brunn- 
hilde  circled  in  flames,  she  suspected  him  of  seeing 
her,  mentally,  at  his  feet.  That  was  what  he  wanted 
of  her,  no  doubt.  The  domain  of  romance  had  been 
denied  to  him,  his  claim  now  was  the  domain  of  the 
mind  and  he  wished  to  show  her  that  he  could  think 
as  lightly  of  romance  as  she.  He  was  to  inform  and 
she  to  acquiesce.  Her  mother's  careful  comments 
returned  to  her;  it  was  acquiescence  he  asked,  not 
judgment,  and  for  the  first  days  of  reunion,  abashed 
by  his  demeanour,  in  which  she  had  expected  to  find 
signs  of  the  avowed  lover,  she  gave  it  somewhat  help- 
lessly. But  it  was  only  for  the  first  days.  She  be- 
came aware,  as  the  mists  of  embarrassment  dissolved, 

189 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

that  though  from  a  lover  the  oppression  Ludwig  exer- 
cised might  have  been  tolerable,  from  a  master  it  was 
not.  With  a  sensation  of  almost  physical  growth,  she 
grasped  her  resources  and  turned  her  thoughts  from 
Ludwig  to  fix  them  upon  what  he  showed  her. 
These  were  strange  objects.  They  seemed  to  her,  as 
whole-heartedly  at  last  she  bent  over  them,  sorting, 
matching,  grouping,  like  the  fragments  of  some  splen- 
did shattered  mosaic,  and  she  wondered  how  they 
could  be  made  to  fit  together.  That  they  did  fit,  that 
they  did  make  one  superb  and  inevitable  pattern,  was 
the  implication  of  the  commanding  gesture  with  which 
he  gave  them  to  her.  But  now,  seen  by  this  imper- 
sonalised  vision,  she  found  it  more  and  more  difficult 
to  conceive  that  the  flashing  surfaces,  the  facetted, 
fantastic  outlines,  could  be  united.  She  questioned 
him.  He  answered;  and  she  would  then  continue  to 
look  at  him,  not,  it  must  be  evident  to  him,  receiving 
light;  meditating,  rather,  in  her  own.  And  before 
that  unhostile,  reflecting  silence,  she  found  that  the 
acerbity,  the  vexation,  with  which  Ludwig  had  re- 
ceived her  queries,  could  drop  suddenly  to  gentleness 
and  even  to  appeal.  She  regained,  with  the  old  Lud- 
wig, a  new  sense  of  her  own  power  when  she  realised 
that  her  recovered  poise  shook  his  assumed  one.  He 
would  lean  across  the  table  to  expound  his  doctrine  to 
her  more  technically  and  as  he  spoke  he  smiled  at  her, 
almost  timidly.  She  could  find  no  answer,  now,  en- 
meshed in  filaments  of  scientific  evidence,  and  her 
helplessness,  if  it  was  not  acquiescence,  was,  she  saw, 

190 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

a  balm  to  him.  Yet  he  was  watchful.  He  suspected 
her  reticences. 

When  he  left  her  at  last,  on  these  mornings,  Persis 
often  remained  sitting  for  a  long  time  motionless,  her 
hands  lying  folded  on  the  opened  books,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  little  street  seen  through  the  lace  curtains, 
with  which  she  was  always,  so  incongruously,  to  asso- 
ciate Ludwig's  philosophy;  and  she  would  find  that  it 
was  the  accumulative  power  of  his  thought,  rather 
than  its  gaps  and  weaknesses,  that  remained  with  her. 
It  brooded  over  her  like  a  strange,  bright,  dark  cloud, 
changing  the  colour  of  the  day,  and  at  night  her 
dreams  were  haunted  by  the  rhythms  of  his  sen- 
tences. 

What  was  this  life  he  showed  her?  Could  she  feel 
its  triumph  ?  Could  he  ?  Did  not  the  hand  of  fate — 
blind,  indifferent — strew  dust  not  only  upon  the  weak, 
those  poor  slaves  whom  Ludwig  so  despised,  but  upon 
the  smiling,  resplendent  masters  themselves?  Was 
there  not  an  unjustifiable  optimism  lurking  in  his 
tragic  creed ;  for  what,  in  such  a  world,  shining,  pano- 
plied, heartless,  was  there  to  love  and  live  for?  It 
was  as  if,  putting  out  hands  to  find  a  mother's  breast, 
one  met  the  brazen  shield  of  some  terrible  warrior 
striding,  cruel  and  laughing,  through  the  universe. 
Persis  had  never  yet  felt  that  she  put  out  her  hands  to 
anything;  but  now,  as  if  before  some  peril,  she  shrank 
back  and  a  strange  new  desolation  knocked  at  her 
heart. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SINCE  the  day  when  she  had  made  him  her 
promise  in  the  sitting-room  she  had  had  hardly 
a  glimpse  of  Herr  Sachs,  and  she  was  glad  one  after- 
noon, while  walking  along  the  river-path,  to  see  his 
figure  approaching  her.  He  was  limping  quickly,  a 
bundle  of  books  under  his  arm,  and  he  came,  no  doubt, 
from  Ludwig's  hotel,  for  his  own  lodgings  were  in 
one  of  the  smaller  streets  of  the  town,  and  were 
reached  most  quickly  by  the  river.  Persis  was  aware, 
as  she  watched  him  approach  her,  his  eyes  fixed  be- 
fore him  on  the  ground,  absorbed,  no  doubt,  in 
thoughts  in  which  she  had  no  share,  that  she  had  a 
vague  sense  of  grievance  against  Herr  Sachs.  It  was 
very  strange  that  a  man  who  cared  for  her — and,  how- 
ever oddly,  she  had  felt  that  he  did  care — should  never 
have  come  to  see  her.  The  cat's  discretion  was  al- 
most discourteous.  It  was  strange,  too,  that  if  he  was 
fond  of  her  he  should  not  have  warned  her  of  peril 
in  connection  with  Ludwig  and  his  doctrines.  Herr 
Sachs  could  not  be  in  agreement  with  such  doctrines. 
She  stood  still  under  the  trees,  and  as  he  did  not 
look  up  until  he  was  close  upon  her,  the  sight  of  her 
standing  there  evidently  startled  him  very  much.  He 
stopped  short;  he  uttered  an  exclamation;  he  blushed. 

192 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

He  was  pleased,  as  well  as  startled;  that,  too,  was 
evident. 

Persis  gave  him  her  hand.  "  We  are  almost 
strangers,  are  we  not  ?  "  she  observed,  smiling  upon 
him.  "  It  must  be  over  a  week  since  you  told  me  that 
I  was  so  young.  Stop  and  talk  to  me  for  a  little 
while.  I  am  sure  that  you  will  feel  that  I  have  grown 
very  old  during  these  last  days." 

The  smile  had  a  touch  of  irony,  but  he  answered 
it  with  his  cheerfulness,  saying,  "  I  hope  not,  Fraulein ; 
I  hope  not  indeed." 

"  Are  you  busy  ?  What  are  all  those  books  ?  "  she 
asked,  as  his  pause  expressed  some  uncertainty. 
"  Can't  you  stop  and  talk  ?  " 

"  I  ha ve' just  borrowed  them  from  Ludwig,  Fraulein. 
Yes,  I  am  busy;  I,  too,  am  writing  a  book;  did  you 
know?  But  it  will  be  very  pleasant  to  sit  with  you 
here  for  a  little  while  and  to  hear  how  old  you  have 
grown." 

They  sat  down  on  the  nearest  bench  under  inter- 
lacing green  boughs,  and  Sachs  depositing  his  burden 
beside  him  leaned  his  crutch  against  it.  It  was  fresh 
and  still.  In  the  vineyards  on  the  opposite  hill-side 
there  were  people  working  in  the  hot  sunlight. 

"  I  am  very  busy,  too,"  said  Persis.  "  All  the 
morning  I  read  and  discuss  with  Ludwig,  and  for 
four  or  five  hours  in  the  afternoon  I  read  to  myself. 
Has  Ludwig  told  you?  You  have  seen,  I  hope,  that 
I  am  not  playing  with  his  life."  Her  face  expressed  a 
slight  vexation. 

193 


"Ah,  Fraulein,"  said  Sachs,  taking  off  his  round 
straw  hat — which  was  too  small  for  him — and  mop- 
ping his  forehead,  "  all  that  is  past.  We  only  think 
of  happy  things.  I  hear  from  Ludwig  that  you  work 
admirably.  I  see  that  you  give  him  great  satisfac- 
tion." 

"Do  I ? "  she  said  vaguely.  Her  eyes  were  on  the 
limpid  flow  of  the  river  seen  between  the  poplars. 
Some  moments  passed  before  she  went  on:  "Will 
Ludwig  approve  of  your  book?  Do  you  read  it  to 
him  as  you  go  on?  You  and  he  think  very  differ- 
ently, don't  you  ?  " 

"We  think  differently.  Yes;  it  may  be  so.  Lud- 
wig says  so,  at  all  events,"  Herr  Sachs  replied  after  a 
little  silence.  "  No ;  I  do  not  read  my  book  to  him. 
It  is  a  very  simple  little  book." 

"He  would  not  like  it?" 

"  I  do  not  think  he  would.  I  do  not  put  things 
as  he  likes  to  see  them  put.  There  are  many  different 
ways  of  putting  things,  are  there  not,  Fraulein?" 

"  Not  if  they  are  the  same  things,"  said  Persis  with 
a  rather  dry  laugh.  "  You  don't  care  to  say  that  you 
disagree  with  Ludwig.  I  see  that." 

Again,  after  a  slight  pause,  Herr  Sachs,  still  cheer- 
fully, replied,  "  Yes.  That  is  true.  I  do  not." 

"Why?"  asked  Persis. 

She  had  turned  her  eyes  to  him.  In  the  green 
shade  of  the  trees  and  under  the  white  shade  of  her 
hat,  they  were  singularly  brilliant  eyes,  emanating 
light,  making,  it  might  seem  to  a  susceptible  young 

194 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

man  who  looked  into  them,  darkness  about  them 
by  their  own  radiance;  not  the  eyes  of  German 
romanticism,  lucid  pools  of  receptive  tenderness; 
ruthless,  rather,  like  shining  swords;  almost  baleful. 
Sachs  blinked  a  little,  screwing  up  the  corner  of  his 
mouth,  as  if,  indeed,  he  faced  a  dazzling  object,  and 
for  a  moment  looked  as  if  he  were  about  to  take  refuge 
in  a  crow  and  thus  evade  discussion.  But,  suddenly, 
his  face  relaxed  to  gravity,  and  looking  at  her  very 
earnestly  he  said :  "  It  is  affection  that  binds  us,  not 
theories.  I  have  a  great  affection  for  Ludwig.  I 
love  him." 

"  I  see,"  Persis  looked  gravely  back  at  him.  "  Yes, 
of  course  I  see.  But  if  you,  who  love  him,  cannot 
think  as  he  does,  how  much  less  can  other  people, 
who  do  not  love  him  ?  It  is  a  sad  and  a  strange  thing, 
is  it  not,  that  so  few  people  should  agree  with  Lud- 
wig." 

"  It  is  usually  the  fate  of  pioneers,  Fraulein." 

"Is  it  that  he  frightens  people  too  much?"  Persis 
asked,  dispassionately ;  "  that  he  destroys  everything 
they  live  by?  Is  that  it?" 

"  Yes ;  when  they  listen  long  enough  to  understand, 
he  frightens  them,"  Sachs  assented.  "  And  they  think 
that  he  only  destroys." 

"  Do  you  not  think  so,  too  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  do  not  think  so,  Fraulein."  The  faint 
grimace,  half  jocular,  half  evasive,  again  was  on  his 
face. 

"  But  if  all  the  things  that  people  live  by  are  illu- 
195 


THE  ENCOUNTER' 

sions?  If  might  is  the  only  right?  If  good  is  only 
the  will  of  the  strong,  and  the  only  evil  that  the  weak 
should  band  together  and  pull  down  the  strong?  If 
life  is  so  cruel  and  meaningless,  what  is  there  to  live 
for  ?  What  is  there  that  is  not  destroyed  ?  " 

She  spoke  without  apparent  urgency,  as  if  rehears- 
ing a  well-learnt  lesson,  and  Sachs  replied  in  the  same 
tone  of  impersonal  research. 

"  The  slave  escapes  the  truth,  does  he  not,  Frau- 
lein  ?  In  Ludwig's  world  its  woe  and  emptiness  would 
be  borne  by  the  conquerors,  by  those  who  saw  the 
truth.  It  would  not  be  such  a  cruel  world  as  it  seems ; 
at  the  bottom,  the  obedient  industrious  hive,  the  many, 
automatically  fulfilling  the  commands  of  those  who 
guided  and  made  use  of  them;  they  would  have  their 
human  joys  and  sorrows  unspoiled  and  all  their  hopes; 
at  the  top,  the  tormented  few,  finding  new  goals,  new 
roads  for  life.  There  is  truth  in  the  vision,  Fraulein." 

"  You  think  so,  too,  then !  "  Astonishment  was  in 
her  voice;  and  something  else.  For  the  first  time  the 
young  man  heard  it. 

"Yes,  I  think  so/'  he  said.  And  he  hesitated. 
"  But  it  is  not  all  the  truth.  You  must  not  be  like 
the  others,  Fraulein,"  he  added,  examining  her: 
"  You  must  not  be  frightened." 

"  I !  I  am  not  frightened ! "  Persis  exclaimed. 
Her  colour  rose. 

Troubled,  but  penetrating,  his  eyes  continued  to 
probe  her.  "  Are  you  not,  Fraulein  ?  It  sounded  to 
me  as  if  you  were." 

196 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  If  I  am,"  said  Persis,  after  another  moment,  "  I 
did  not  know  it.  It  was  all  too  far  away.  It  was 
like  a  curious,  interesting  picture  he  showed  me.  Now 
I  see  that  he  wants  one  step  into  the  picture,  and  be- 
come part  of  it,  and  live  in  it.  It  is  n't  picture,  it  is 
reality,  to  him.  Tell  me;  what  am  I  to  do  if  I  am 
frightened  ?  "  The  hot  colour  was  still  on  her  cheek, 
and  it  was  so  strange  to  her  to  find  herself  thus  con- 
fessing to  fear,  thus  appealing  for  help,  that  she  felt 
the  sting  of  tears  rise  to  her  eyes. 

Herr  Sachs,  looking  at  her  very  gravely  and  kindly, 
said:  "What  are  you  to  do,  Fraulein?  But  if  you 
become  really  frightened  and  do  not  feel  strong 
enough,  you  must  run  away.  It  is  not  for  the  young 
to  measure  themselves  against  powers  they  cannot 
master.  Ah,  yes,  Fraulein,  for  you  are  very  young." 

"  But  I  am  strong,"  said  Persis.  His  quiet  and  his 
kindness  helped  her  to  recover  herself.  "  I  am  one 
of  Ludwig's  strong  people.  I  do  not  want  to  run 
away.  I  could  not  bear  to  run  away." 

"  Then,  if  you  feel  yourself  so  strong — go  forward. 
Do  not  listen  to  fear — not  to  your  own  fear  nor  to 
Ludwig's — for  he  is  frightened  too,  how  not?  Listen 
to  what  he  says.  Accept  what  he  says,  yes,  accept 
it.  When  we  know  how  to  accept,  so  much  of  Lud- 
wig's thought  is  cleansing  and  purifying — like  wind 
and  fire.  Go  through  the  fire.  We  become  chaff  if 
we  fly  before  it.  We  are  steel  when  we  have  learned 
to  endure  and  rejoice  in  it." 

She  sat  looking  at  him.  Fear  was  a  wraith.  She 
197 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

'felt  strong  enough  to  face  anything  when  she  looked 
at  Herr  Sachs  and  when  his  eyes  became  the  benignant 
sky.  But  then,  was  it  not  because  under  that  sky 
Ludwig's  dark  theories  dissolved  like  wisps  of  cloud? 
And  if  Herr  Sachs  dissolved  them,  must  it  not  be 
because  he,  too,  saw  them  as  wraiths? 

A  dim  smile  trembled  on  her  lips  and  in  her  eyes, 
and,  recognising  some  new  and  happy  assurance  in 
her,  Sachs  said :  "  You  see,  it  will  be  well  with  you 
and  with  Ludwig.  You  are  one  of  the  brave  who  do 
not  need  to  run  away."  He  rose  as  he  spoke,  gather- 
ing up  his  books,  smiling  down  at  her.  But  Persis 
put  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Wait,  only  a  moment.  I  am  always  asking  you 
to  wait!  Yes.  You  make  me  remember.  You 
make  me  think  of  so  many  things.  All  the  beautiful 
things  I  have  ever  known.  Tell  me,  you  do  not  be- 
lieve that  there  is  no  good  and  evil  ?  that  only  strength 
is  good  ?  " 

He  had  paused,  looking  down  at  her.  And  after  a 
moment  he  said :  "  But  yes,  only  strength  is  good." 

"  Cruel,  mocking,  destructive  strength  ?  " 

"  But  is  not  that  better  than  cruel,  mocking,  destruc- 
tive weakness,  Fraulein?  There  is  hope  for  it,  is 
there  not?  Think." 

"  But, — if  it  is  all  mechanism?  If  there  is  no  free- 
dom?" 

"  The  word  mechanism  is  meaningless  when  one 
speaks  of  human  wills,  Fraulein.  Strength,  what  is  it 
but  choice,  purpose,  freedom?  And  what  does 

198 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

strength  choose  ?  What  is  the  strongest  thing  that  we 
know?  Is  it  cruel?  Look  at  it,  Fraulein." 

Persis  had  risen.  "  What  is  the  strongest  thing  ? 
Let  me  understand.  Tell  me  what  you  mean." 

"  But,  Fraulein,  the  strongest  thing  is  love.  Who  is 
there  in  the  world  who  seems  to  us  so  strong  as  the 
Christ?" 

He  read  an  almost  ingenuous  amazement  in  her 
eyes.  "  Christ  ?  He  died.  He  was  crucified ; 
broken." 

"  It  is  not  weakness  to  die,  Fraulein.  He  was  not 
broken." 

"  You  are  a  Christian !  What  Ludwig  said  was 
true!" 

"  Not  as  you  mean  the  word ;  not  as  Ludwig  means 
it.  By  the  Christ  I  do  not  mean  only  the  historic 
Jesus  we  read  of." 

"  But  you  believe  in  goodness  like  that ;  in  sacri- 
fice; in  selflessness;  all  the  things  that  Ludwig 
hates." 

"  I  hate  them  when  they  mean  impotence  and  sub- 
terfuge, Fraulein.  Goodness  is  what  the  highest 
strength  desires  and  chooses.  If  only  strength  is 
good  yet  it  is  still  more  true  to  say  that  only  goodness 
is  strong.  That  is  all  my  creed.  And  Fraulein  Per- 
sis, see.  When  you  understand  Ludwig's  creed  you 
will  find  that  it  is  not  so  different  a  one  from  mine. 
No.  It  is  not.  Whatever  he  may  say." 

There  had  been  incredulity  as  well  as  amazement  in 
her  gaze,  and  he  spoke  almost  with  vehemence  as 

199 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

though  in  answer  to  it.  She  could  not  have  believed, 
with  all  her  knowledge  of  its  significance,  that  Herr 
Sachs's  face  could  be  so  changed.  It  spoke  his  mean- 
ing with  even  more  authority  than  his  words.  Power, 
intentness,  swiftness;  she  saw  them  bared  suddenly 
in  his  glance,  like  a  human  form  stripped  of  its  cloth- 
ing and  standing  in  chiselled  nakedness  before  one. 
And  the  analogy  brought  another  as  she  looked  at 
him.  How  much  like  trappings  and  tinsel,  devices 
for  covering,  protecting,  decorating  some  cowering  hu- 
man frame  was  much  of  Lud wig's  strength.  The 
thought  made  her  grave.  By  the  light  of  Herr  Sachs's 
reality,  she  had  seen  a  truth  that  he  himself  would 
never  willingly  have  shown  her. 

They  walked  now  along  the  path  towards  the  pen- 
sion garden.  And  for  a  little  while  they  both  kept 
silence.  It  was  Persis  who  broke  it.  "  Why  do  you 
not  come  any  longer  to  our  discussions,  and  study  with 
us  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

He  had  walked,  absorbed,  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
and  he  looked  up  in  surprise.  "  I  have  my  own 
studies,  Fraulein,"  he  said  after  a  moment. 

"  Would  they  have  interfered  ?  You  came  at  first. 
Did  Ludwig  want  you  not  to  come  ?  " 

"  You  are  his  pupil,  Fraulein.  He  wants  you  to 
himself.  Under  all  the  circumstances  I  find  that  very 
natural." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  natural.  But  it  would  have  been 
more  helpful,  I  think,  if  we  could  all  have  talked 
together,  searched  for  the  truth  together." 

200 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Ludwig  is  not  searching  for  the  truth  with  you. 
He  is  showing  you  his  own  truth." 

She  looked  at  him  rather  as  if  he  had  placed  a  high 
wall  across  her  path,  which,  gauging  its  height,  she 
abandoned  any  idea  of  scaling,  and  since  they  had 
now  reached  the  garden  she  mounted  the  stone  steps 
and  drew  the  grille  behind  her  and  her  young  face, 
potent,  smiling,  faintly  challenging,  looked  at  him 
from  between  the  bars.  "  Is  your  mother  alive  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  My  mother! "  Sachs  looked  back  at  her  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"Yes.     Is  she  alive?" 

"  She  is  alive.     Why  do  you  ask,  Fraulein  ?  " 

"  Where  does  she  live  ?     I  wanted  to  know." 

"  In  Leipsig,  Fraulein,  where  I  was  born." 

"And  your  father?" 

"  He  died  many  years  ago." 

"  So  that  your  mother  brought  you  up  ?  " 

"  She  brought  us  up,  all  eight  of  us,"  said  Sachs. 
"  She  keeps  a  boarding-house  for  students.  It  is  a 
hard  life." 

"  And  she  is  very  unselfish,  very  self-sacrificing, 
very  unresisting?" 

"  You  would  not  call  her  very  unresisting,"  Sachs 
answered,  smiling.  "  She  has  a  high  temper,  the 
Mutterchen.  But,  yes,  she  is  unselfish,  devoted,  the 
best  of  mothers." 

"You  love  her  very  much?" 

"Very  much  indeed,"   Sachs  now  had  begun  to 

201 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

laugh.  "  Is  it  a  game,  Fraulein  ?  I  think  you  are  in 
a  mischievous  mood  after  all  our  grave  talk." 

"  No ;  it  is  n't  a  game.  I  wanted  to  know  where 
she  lived  and  whether  you  loved  her.  May  I  some- 
times send  your  mother  a  little  gift,  do  you  think — as 
a  friend  of  yours? — She  would  not  mind?" 

"  But  it  would  be  too  good  of  you,  Fraulein.  It 
would  be  a  great  surprise  and  a  great  pleasure  to  her." 
He  looked  very  boyish;  touched,  amazed,  delighted. 
He  was  full,  she  saw,  of  a  boyish  capacity  for  enjoy- 
ing little  things  and,  at  the  moment,  she  felt  herself 
his  senior. 

"  I  should  like  to  please  your  mother  because  that 
would  please  you,"  she  said.  "And  I  feel  I  should 
like  her  because  I  like  you  so  much.  We  will  talk 
about  it,  about  what  gift  it  shall  be.  Now  you  must 
go  and  write  your  book. — Good-bye." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SHE  had  a  note  from  Wehlitz  next  morning  post- 
poning their  lesson  until  the  afternoon  as  he  had 
important  proofs  to  correct.  It  read  rather  tersely, 
but  terseness,  now,  was  his  garment;  and  when  the 
afternoon  came  and  she  was  told  that  he  was  in  the 
garden  waiting  for  her,  it  was  a  happy  mood  she 
brought  him.  For  she  had  her  talisman;  he  was  not 
to  frighten  her  and  she  was  to  help  him;  she  was  to 
be  steel,  not  chaff. 

The  day  was  beautiful.  As  she  went  down  the 
path  she  paused  to  look  at  an  apple-bough,  clustered 
thickly  with  apples,  and  making  her  think  of  some 
picture  she  had  seen — a  long  hand  reaching  up  to 
seize  a  rosy  fruit.  She  could  recall  the  subtle  draw- 
ing, the  warm  white  of  the  flesh  on  its  background 
of  sky  and  leaves,  the  supple  turn  of  the  wrist  and  the 
narrow  nails;  some  primitive  Italian  painting  it  must 
have  been.  Looking  down  from  the  branch,  she  saw 
that  Wehlitz  was  standing  watching  her  at  some  lit- 
tle distance  and  she  read  in  his  attitude,  in  the  brood- 
ing poise  of  the  head,  some  disapprobation  of  her 
loitering.  She  still  paused,  however,  reaching  up  her 
own  hand,  picking  an  apple  from  its  stem  and  set- 
ting her  teeth  in  it,  and  as  she  did  so  she  called  to 
him: 

203 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Good-morning.  The  apples  are  ripe.  Shall  I 
bring  you  one?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  Wehlitz,  from  his  station,  re- 
plied. 

Persis  ran  forward  now,  taking  another  bite  at  her 
apple,  a  radiant,  confident  young  figure,  her  white 
skirts  sweeping  the  grass,  the  sunlight  dappling  her 
hair  and  shoulders.  But  Wehlitz,  as  she  joined  him, 
hardly  replied  to  her  second  greeting,  setting  the  books 
very  carefully  one  upon  the  other  on  the  tin  table 
and  evading  her  glance.  "  Would  it  trouble  you  too 
much,"  he  inquired,  "if  I  ask  you  for  a  glass  of 
sir  op?  I  am  loath  to  disturb  you,  but  it  is  oppressive 
to-day,  and  I  am  thirsty."  The  artificiality  of  his  tone 
matched  his  meticulous  gestures. 

Persis  had  stopped  short  before  him,  examining  him 
with  curiosity.  "  Certainly;  "  she  answered,  after  the 
scrutinizing  pause.  There  was  an  ironical  note  in  her 
voice,  but  it  concealed  bewilderment  and  even  hurt. 
She  turned  away  and  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house. 
He  was  still  occupied  with  the  placing  of  the  books 
and  papers  when  she  returned.  "  I  thank  you,"  he 
repeated. 

She  took  her  place  at  the  table. 

"  Before  we  begin,"  said  Ludwig,  folding  and  un- 
folding a  paper  and  glancing  down  it  with  a  feint  of 
carelessness,  "  I  should  like  to  give  you  a  word  of 
counsel,  of  friendly  advice.  My  friend  Conrad  Sachs 
is  a  busy  man,  a  cruelly  driven  man.  He  has  his  own 
support  to  provide,  and  that  of  his  aged  mother.  It 

204 


.  THE  ENCOUNTER 

is  most  important  for  him  that  his  work  should  not  be 
interrupted.  I  went  to  his  lodgings  yesterday,  almost 
immediately  after  he  had  left  me,  at  a  time  when  he 
had  told  me  that  he  was  to  be  at  work,  and  there  I 
waited  for  over  an  hour,  yes,  it  was  over  an  hour  by 
my  watch.  He  said,  when  at  last  he  came,  and  he  was 
evidently  preoccupied  and  excited,  in  no  fit  frame  of 
mind  for  study,  he  said  that  he  had  met  you  and  had 
been  talking  with  you.  It  is  a  woman's  place,  Persis, 
to  carry  the  man's  shield,  to  buckle  it  upon  his  breast, 
to  bind  his  wounds.  When  she  enmeshes  him  in  idle- 
ness and  frivolity  she  does  him  the  greatest  of  in- 
juries." 

After  this  speech  there  was  a  pause.  Wehlitz  had 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  papers  and  Persis,  lean- 
ing lightly  back  in  her  chair  with  folded  arms  and 
bent  head,  had  looked  at  him  with  grave  attention. 
"  Is  his  mother  an  aged  woman  ?  "  she  asked  pres- 
ently. 

With  half  incredulous  amazement  his  eyes  fixed 
themselves  upon  her.  "  His  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Herr  Sachs's  mother.  He  is  quite  a  young 
man,  not  so  many  years  older  than  I  am.  I  should 
never  think  of  calling  my  mother  aged."  She  stressed 
the  syllable  as  he  had  done. 

For  some  moments  of  silent  interchange,  while  he 
paled  and  flushed,  Wehlitz  said  nothing;  then,  with 
ponderous  dignity,  he  answered :  "  I  am  unable  to 
inform  you  of  Frau  Sachs's  age." 

"When  you  said  she  was  an  aged  woman  it  was 
205 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

only,  then,  because  you  wanted  to  add  a  pathetic  touch 
to  the  picture  you  were  drawing." 

Wehlitz's  nostrils  dilated  and  he  drew  deep  breaths. 
"  You  mock  me,  Persis  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,"  she  conceded,  but  without  playful- 
ness. 

"  Ah,  very  well,"  said  Wehlitz  after  another  pause, 
"  Very  well.  I  understand.  You  are  tired  of  me  and 
I  will  relieve  you  of  my  presence.  Permit  me,  how- 
ever, to  observe  before  I  depart,  that  I  should  not  have 
exposed  myself  to  the  flouts  of  a  vain,  spoiled  child 
had  I  not  misread  her  character."  While  he  spoke  he 
gathered  up  the  papers,  and  his  hands  trembled. 

To  Persis,  though  she  sat  with  her  head  bent,  her 
eyes  turned  away  from  him,  all  the  symptoms  of  his 
discomposure  were  evident,  and  that  she  betrayed 
none  of  her  own  was  a  sustaining  fact.  But  though 
she,  too,  felt  dismay,  she  was  determined  to  yield  at 
no  point  to  his  folly. 

He  buckled  a  strap  about  the  books,  folded  the  pa- 
pers into  a  portfolio,  took  up  his  hat  and  placed  it  upon 
his  head.  Then  he  paused,  and  she  knew  that  his 
eyes  were  resting  on  her.  She  did  not  raise  her  glance 
to  his.  As  if  with  a  certain  precaution,  then,  he  took 
his  hat  off  and  laid  it  softly  back  upon  the  table. 
Then  standing  still  he  looked  at  her  intently. 

Something  in  this  last  gesture  and  in  this  last  still- 
ness struck  upon  her  sense  of  pity  and  of  mirth.  He 
was  like  a  reproved  and  sulky  dog  who  dares  not  call 
attention  to  himself,  yet  watches  carefully  for  signs 

206 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

of  relenting  on  his  master's  face.     She  looked  up  and 
a  glint  of  laughter  was  in  her  glance. 

Tears  of  fury,  of  shame,  of  relief  mounted  to  Weh- 
litz's  eyes.  "  You  will  let  me  go  like  this,  then !  You 
have  no  word  to  say ! "  he  cried,  clutching  and  un- 
clutching  his  hands  on  the  back  of  his  chair. 

"  What  can  I  say  ?  "  she  returned  soberly.  She  felt 
no  feminine  desire  for  a  retaliatory  quotation  of  his 
"  vain,  spoiled  child  " — though  that  he  seemed  to  her. 
She  expressed,  indeed,  with  sincerity,  her  sense  of 
helplessness.  "Of  course  I  do  not  want  you  to  go," 
she  added. 

"  You  do  not  want  me  to  go !  You  say  that  you 
do  not  want  me  to  go!  Yet  you  will  not  deny  that 
you  flout  me !  " 

"  I  don't  deny  that  I  find  you  absurd." 

Her  sobriety,  her  maturity,  at  once  scattered  his 
faculties  and  concentrated  his  grief.  "  Absurd !  My 
solicitude  for  my  friend  is  called  absurd!  I  am  not 
accustomed  to  such  accusations!  I  am  not  accus- 
tomed to  being  treated  with  disrespect ! " 

"  You  certainly  seem  to  me  absurd,"  Persis 
reiterated.  "  In  what  way  do  I  impede  Herr  Sachs 
more  in  talking  to  him  about  all  our  theories  than  you 
did  when  you  had  him  with  us  in  those  first  days  ?  " 
It  was  weak  perhaps  to  descend  to  such  queries,  but 
she  was  really  curious  to  discover  the  basis  of  his 
grievance. 

"  There  is  a  time  for  all  things !  Those  were  holi- 
days for  Conrad  1  They  are  over  now!  He  must 

207 


THE  ENCOUNTER' 

work!  He  must  work!"  Wehlitz  almost  sobbed, 
the  most  singular  commotion  on  his  face.  "  What 
need  have  you  to  discuss  our  theories  with  him? 
Am  I  not  your  master  ?  Have  you  not  promised  your 
allegiance  to  me?  It  is  to  me  you  should  come  with 
your'  perplexities.  Conrad  does  not  recognize  and 
could  not  understand  the  world  we  live  in — you  and  I. 
I  do  not  discuss  my  beliefs  with  Conrad.  I  would 
not  have  discussed  them  with  you  had  I  known  that 
you  would  take  them  to  Conrad  for  his  inspection  and 
criticism." 

The  paltry,  piteous  truth  was  evident.  It  was  no 
personal  jealousy;  for  that  her  heart  could  have  soft- 
ened. It  was  a  jealousy  of  the  mind.  She  saw  him 
as  puerile,  fiercely  egotistic. 

The  maid,  at  this  moment,  most  inopportunely, 
brought  the  sir  op  in  its  red  and  white  glass,  and  after 
looking  at  it  unseeingly  for  a  moment,  Wehlitz  filled 
the  glass  with  water  from  the  carafe  and  drank  the 
beverage  hastily.  Then,  pushing  aside  the  tray,  he 
again  fixed  his  insistent,  accusatory,  yet  supplicating 
eyes  upon  her.  She  could  not  restrain  her  irony. 

"  It  was  not  for  Conrad,  then,  your  solicitude.  It 
was  for  your  own  position." 

A  violent  red  mounted  to  Wehlitz's  cheek.  "  False ! 
False ! "  he  cried,  panting,  while  he  dashed  his  fist 
down  upon  the  table.  "  You  have  a  serpent's  tongue ! 
You  seek  to  sting  and  wound  me !  It  is  the  woman's 
nature!  I  resent — rightly — your  seeking  out  my 
friend  to  criticize  me  with  him  behind  my  back!  It 

208 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

is  not  loyal!  It  is  not  loving!  I  trusted  in  your 
loyalty — yes,  and  in  your  love.  Have  you  not  prom- 
ised them?  If  you  disagreed  with  me  I  believed  that 
you  would  come  to  me  openly,  frankly,  like  a  com- 
rade." 

"  So  I  do,"  said  Persis  coldly.  "  So  I  intend  to 
do — always.  I  do  not  criticize  you  with  Herr  Sachs." 

"  No?  You  do  not?  What  then?  What  did  you 
say  with  him  ?  " 

"Did  he  not  tell  you?" 

"  I  did  not  ask.  I  did  not  stoop  to  ask.  I  ex- 
pressed my  anxiety — my  disapproval — and  I  left  him. 
I  did  not  hear,  nor  choose  to  hear  from  him,  what  you 
had  said  of  me." 

"  And  you  will  not  hear  it  from  me,"  said  Persis. 

Again  a  silence  fell.  Wehlitz  walked  up  and  down, 
his  hands  clutched  together  behind  him.  Persis  fixed 
her  eyes  moodily  upon  the  ground.  Presently  he 
stopped  before  her,  and  she  knew  before  he  spoke 
that  it  was  surrender  she  was  to  hear,  veiling  itself 
in  authority.  "  Tell  me  this,"  he  said,  "  may  I  count 
upon  your  loyalty — your  common  loyalty?  May  I 
trust  you  not  to  say  behind  my  back  what  you  would 
not  say  to  my  face  ?  Answer  me." 

She  did  not  raise  her  eyes.  Moodily  she  still  gazed 
down  at  the  grass. 

"  What ! "  he  cried,  and  tears  quivered  in  his  voice. 
"You  cannot  give  me  this  assurance!  I  may  not 
trust  you  even  so  far  ?  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  him  at  last  and  he  read  in 
209 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

them  pride  rather  than  reluctance.  "  I  must  have 
complete  independence." 

"  Independence  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  independ- 
ence?" Wehlitz  asked,  leaning  heavily  on  the  back 
of  his  chair  with  both  hands  while  he  stared  back  at 
her. 

"  Between  friends  there  cannot  be  such  promises.  I 
must  be  free  to  talk  to  anybody  I  like  and  of  anything 
I  choose,  and  you  must,  if  we  are  friends,  trust  my 
loyalty." 

He  gazed  at  her.  It  was  now  all  surrender  she 
saw ;  authority  had  fallen  away  completely.  "  Then 
we  are  reconciled  ?  " 

"  Reconciled,"  she  agreed. 

"  You  forgive  any  offensive  expressions  that,  in  my 
excitement,  may  have  escaped  me  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  think  of  them  again,"  she  dimly  smiled. 

He  sought  a  little  to  recover  himself.  "  As  I  for- 
give you  for  yours." 

And  with  all  good  humour,  Persis  echoed:  "As 
you  forgive  me  for  mine." 

Wehlitz  took  his  place  at  the  table.  "  And  now  to 
work — to  work,"  he  said.  Persis  sat  ready  while  he 
turned  the  pages  of  a  book.  But  suddenly  he  put  his 
elbows  on  the  table  and  rested  his  forehead  in  his 
hands. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  feel  ill,"  said  Persis  after  a 
moment. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  his  face  hidden.  "  I  feel  ill.  Yes, 
I  am  not  well."  And  he  added,  after  another  silence, 

210 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  I  have  over-excited  myself.  I  cannot  think  fruit- 
fully to-day.  Forgive  me.  I  must  go."  He  rose. 

With  the  grave  solicitude  that  was  her  nearest  ap- 
proach to  tenderness,  she  helped  him  to  put  together 
his  books  and  papers.  "  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said. 
"You  will  go  and  rest,  won't  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  go  and  rest."  He  spoke  as  though  he 
were  on  the  verge  of  tears.  She  was  indeed  very 
sorry,  but  disturbed,  too,  and  perplexed ;  for  he  seemed 
to  her  like  a  child,  and  a  child  one  could  not  caress  and 
soothe — if  such  ministrations  had  been  natural  to  her. 
He  gave  her,  indeed,  no  time  for  further  expressions 
of  sympathy.  Smiling  with  constraint,  avoiding  her 
eyes,  he  lifted  his  hat  and  turned  away.  He  went 
out  by  the  grille,  and  as  he  came  to  it  and  opened  it, 
he  paused  for  a  moment,  as  though  struck  by  a  sudden 
thought,  and  looked  back  at  her.  She  felt  sure  that 
he  was  wondering  if  it  were  here  that  she  and  Herr 
Sachs  had  met. 


CHAPTER  XX 

PERSIS  sat  on  under  the  apple-boughs.  She 
watched  a  ladybird  wander  distractedly  on  her 
sleeve  and  stooped  presently  to  pick  a  long  blade  of 
grass  on  to  which,  with  some  difficulty,  she  succeeded 
in  cajoling  it.  Then  she  rose  and  placed  the  grass  on 
a  branch.  As  she  thus  secured  the  ladybird,  she  heard 
footsteps  approaching  down  the  path,  and,  looking 
round,  saw  Graf  von  Liidenstein  before  her. 

She  had  wondered,  once  or  twice,  and  with  a  curious 
sense  of  relief  and  disappointment,  whether  he  had 
gone  away  and,  hearing  nothing  of  him,  she  had  al- 
most accepted  the  fact  of  his  disappearance  from  her 
life.  Now,  meeting  the  sleepy  yet  intent  eyes,  she 
was  aware  that  the  sight  of  him  was  reviving,  ex- 
hilarating like  a  draught  of  light  yet  potent  wine. 
This  man,  at  all  events,  would  not  weary  or  exasperate 
her.  Nor  should  he  discompose  her;  this  was  the 
second  thought  that  came  as,  with  the  sense  of  weight 
in  his  glance,  memories  of  their  last  meeting  strongly 
returned  to  her. 

He  was  looking  grave.  It  struck  her,  as  they 
greeted,  that  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  looked  at  her 
unsmiling.  Glancing  down  at  the  books  upon  the 
table,  he  said :  "  Do  I  interrupt  ?  Am  I  permitted  ? 
I  have  been  away.  I  only  returned  last  night." 

212 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

She  assented,  and  he  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of 
the  table  in  Ludwig's  chair,  taking  off  his  hat  and 
laying  it  down  while  he  glanced  away  from  her  and 
up  at  the  branches,  drawing  in  the  air  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  satisfaction  she  remembered  to  have 
noticed  in  him  when  she  had  met  him  on  that  mo- 
mentous morning  on  the  river-path.  He  was,  indeed, 
satisfaction  personified.  She  was  able,  while  his  eyes 
were  thus  turned  from  her,  to  appraise  his  face  as  she 
had  not  done  before.  The  chin  was  hidden  by  the 
square  gold  beard,  but  the  moustache,  brushed  up 
from  them,  revealed  the  lips,  calm,  sensual,  resolute, 
as  if  always  slightly  smiling,  even  when  the  face  was 
grave,  as  now ;  not  a  bad  mouth,  nor  a  bad  face,  with 
its  thick  yet  handsome  nose  and  placid  brow;  kind 
even,  though  certainly  callous;  full  of  character,  too, 
though — was  it  not? — unscrupulous.  His  eyes  met 
hers  as  they  rested  on  him  with  their  impersonal 
scrutiny,  and  now  he  vaguely  smiled.  "  I  was  wrong 
the  other  day,  it  seems,  Fraulein,"  he  observed.  "  I 
hope  you  have  forgiven  me  for  my  blunder." 

His  words  brought  another  memory  to  her  mind. 
She  paused  for  a  moment  before  saying :  "  Was  it  a 
blunder?" 

Liidenstein  raised  his  eyebrows  slightly,  consider- 
ing her.  "  Was  it  a  blunder  ?  " 

"You  really  thought  Herr  Sachs  had  come  for 
that?" 

"Why  not?"  he  asked.  "Who  has  suggested 
otherwise?" 

213 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  No  one,"  said  Persis  somewhat  hastily.  "  I  only 
wondered.  It  was  such  an  incredibly  foolish  idea  of 
Ludwig's.  He  could  hardly  have  taken  it  seriously 
himself — and  it  seemed  that  you  did." 

He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  "  I  did  not  take  it 
seriously  until  I  heard  that  Sachs  had  come  with  a 
message  for  you.  I  thought  it  the  only  explanation 
of  that.  Ludwig  had  given  me  no  hint  of  his  hopes, 
and  it  could  not  have  occurred  to  me  that  he  would 
confide  their  expression  to  another  man.  No,  I  con- 
fess the  reality  would  have  seemed  to  me  even  less  of 
a  serious  possibility  than  what  I  had  imagined  to  be 
the  truth." 

She  felt  her  colour  rising.  He  made  her  angry,  if 
not  with  him ;  her  anger  seemed  a  diffused  feeling  ap- 
plicable to  no  one  person,  and  centreing  only  in  the 
suspicion  that  an  indignity  had  been  done  her  and 
that  he  reminded  her  of  it.  "  Yes,  I  see — yes,  it  was 
no  doubt  natural  for  you  to  have  thought  it,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

Ludenstein  was  silent  for  some  moments,  with  no 
air  of  resentment,  though  evidently  her  implied  ac- 
cusation still  preoccupied  him.  After  a  little  while 
he  said :  "  You  were  wise  in  refusing  Ludwig,  Frati- 
lein.  He  is  a  man  to  whom  one  can  devote  oneself, 
but  not  a  man  whom  one  should  marry.  And  this 
situation  that  you  have  made  for  him  is  an  admirable 
device."  And  looking  now  down  at  her  books,  as  if 
he  turned  from  a  theme  too  delicate  for  his  intrusion, 
he  went  on:  "You  have  been  studying?  You 

214 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

plunge  seriously,  resolutely,  into  all  our  direful  prob- 
lems?" 

"  Are  they  your  problems,  too?"  She  wondered  if 
it  should  not  have  been  hers  to  open  this  new  con- 
versational path;  she  took  it  with  some  relief,  though 
again  with  a  little  sting  of  anger  at  the  thought  that 
he  always  was  the  initiator;  her  only  part  seemed  to 
be  to  follow  or  to  resist. 

"  I  should  not,  perhaps,  say  ours,"  said  Liidenstein. 
"  I  have  myself  made  up  my  mind  as  to  which  prob- 
lems are  insoluble.  That  is  a  great  convenience,  and 
lightens  one's  mental  baggage  very  considerably. 
With  my  own  little  handful  of  solutions  I  exist  very 
comfortably;  a  dressing-case,  if  you  will,  rather  than 
a  box.  I  find  a  dressing-case  all  that  I  require  for  this 
journey  of  life." 

She  felt  that  she  would  like  to  know  what  the  dress- 
ing-case contained.  "  Are  your  solutions  the  same  as 
Ludwig's  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"Ludwig?"  he  repeated.  "Has  Ludwig  solu- 
tions? I  was  not  aware  of  any.  He  finds  premises, 
it  is  true,  and  draws  conclusions.  The  premises  I 
often  accept;  the  conclusions  seldom.  I  am  not  a 
poet.  I  am  an  old-fashioned  hedonist  and  a  new- 
fashioned  materialist,  and  that  is  what  Ludwig  would 
be  if  he  logically  followed  the  premises  he  finds. 
Luckily  for  us  he  is  not  a  logician  and  gives  us  art 
instead  of  systems.  All  the  beauty  in  the  world  is 
made  by  the  people  who  are  incapable  of  logic.  Lud- 
wig has  his  boxful  of  labels,  like  the  rest  of  them — his 

215 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

higher,  his  lower,  his  base,  his  noble,  his  peaks  and  his 
morasses.  It  is  an  idealism,  a  frantic  idealism,  that 
spurns  the  metaphysical  basis  of  idealism." 

"  We  must  all  use  labels  if  we  are  to  speak  together 
at  all,"  Persis  demurred.  Oddly,  while  to  Sachs  she 
could  point  out  her  difficulties,  from  Liidenstein  she 
wished  to  hide  that  she  saw  any.  "  You,  as  a  hedon- 
ist, would  call  higher  that  which  pleases  you  most." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Liidenstein,  laughing.  "  Not  at 
all,  gnddiges  Frdulein.  I  should  not  call  it  lower 
either:  but  simply,  that  which  pleases  me."  He 
moved,  now,  the  book  beneath  his  elbow  and  opened 
it,  glancing  down  its  pages  and  murmuring  here  and 
there  a  phrase  of  comment.  "  Hm !  Say  you  so,  my 
friend?  Brave  fellow!  So  dies  the  Chimaera!" 

He  affected  her  with  a  strong  curiosity  as  he  sat 
there  looking  down;  the  book  was  not  one  of 
Ludwig's,  it  was  written  by  a  young  scientist,  and  ex- 
pounded a  mathematical  cosmogony. 

What  did  he  live  by,  this  strange  man?  What  did 
he  believe  in?  And  why  did  he  trouble  to  seek  her 
out  and  impart  to  her  his  indifferences?  For,  after 
all,  though  she  thought  of  herself  as  a  powerful  young 
person,  she  did  not  expect  a  man  of  his  type  to  find 
her  so. 

Suddenly,  as  if  he  had  felt  her  questions,  he  looked 
up  and  their  eyes  met.  For  a  moment,  without  words, 
they  looked  steadily  at  each  other.  Then,  slowly,  as 
if  coming  to  some  decision,  weighing  its  timeliness,  he 
said :  "  Fraulein  Fennamy,  you  see  before  you  a  man 

216 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

who  has  no  consolations.  I  believe  in  Ludwig's  higher 
man  as  little  as  I  believe  in  friend  Sachs's  metaphysi- 
cal mythologies.  I  believe  in  alien  and  indifferent 
forces — call  them  material  or  mental,  as  you  will — 
which  have  produced  us,  which  grind  out  their  destiny 
through  us,  which  destroy  us  and  our  small  schemes 
and  standards  as  relentlessly  as  they  call  us  into  life. 
I  am  not  an  unhappy  man,  for  I  expect  nothing  from 
any  Gods,  and  in  frustrated  expectation  lies  our 
misery.  But,  though  I  have  no  complaint  to  make  or 
aspiration  to  express,  I  am,  perhaps,  in  my  accept- 
ance of  our  singular  human  situation,  no  less  worthy 
of  interest  than  our  two  illuminated  friends.  I,  too, 
can  suffer,  though  I  have,  it  may  be,  more  power  of 
enduring  and  controlling  suffering;  and  I,  too,  can 
desire  and  hope.  My  life  is  not  so  arid  as  it  may  seem 
to  your  young  eyes.  There  remain  in  our  world, 
sinister  as  it  is,  potent  draughts  of  intoxication  even 
for  the  man  who  has  seen  through  its  illusions.  There 
remain  the  intoxication  of  beauty, — I  drink  deep  of 
mine  in  music, — and  the  intoxication  of  love." 

She  knew  now,  suddenly,  though — ominously,  was 
it  not? — without  surprise,  that  behind  all  his  careful 
words  had  been  an  intention,  an  intention  directed  to- 
wards herself.  And,  for  a  moment,  while  the  realiza- 
tion laid  hold  upon  her,  she  sat  as  helpless  as  a  bird  in 
a  snare,  gazing  at  him  and  maintaining  the  appear- 
ance, only,  of  fearlessness. 

Liidenstein  seemed  unaware  of  any  advantage.  It 
was  in  the  same  tone,  thoughtful,  deliberate,  that  he 

217 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

went  on,  looking  quietly  at  her.  "Of  that  I  have 
often  drunk.  But  never  has  the  magic  more  strongly 
come  to  me  than  now;  I  do  not  need  to  tell  you  so, 
you  know  already  your  power  over  me.  You  know 
that  I  love  you,  Fraulein  Persis." 

His  eyes  rested  steadily  on  her,  without  embarrass- 
ment, without  appeal,  and,  it  almost  seemed,  without 
ardour.  It  was  in  the  weight  of  their  regard,  pressing 
down  upon  her  like  the  slumberous  heat  of  a  sultry 
day,  that  she  felt  passion,  watchful,  imperious,  armed 
with  a  maturity  of  experience  and  resource.  And  as 
she  sat  gazing  at  him  with  her  pale,  brilliant  eyes, 
Ludenstein  slightly  smiled.  "  So.  It  is  well.  You 
are  not  of  the  vulgar  brood,"  he  said.  "You  are 
not  affronted.  You  are  grave  and  haughty  and  beau- 
tiful, as  I  have  always  found  you,  neither  fearing  me 
nor  stooping  to  reprove.  So.  My  confession  is 
made.  From  the  first  moment  that  I  saw  you,  mov- 
ing towards  us  under  the  linden  trees,  stepping  so 
proudly,  like  a  noble  child,  in  your  dress  of  black  and 
white  and  with  your  green  ribbons,  I  have  been  in- 
toxicated." 

What  came  to  her  now  was  more  bewildering  than 
fear — or  was  it  but  another  form  of  fear  ?  Antagon- 
ism, curiosity,  delight;  they  were  his  words.  And 
the  first  added  only  a  charm  to  the  others.  She  did 
not  dislike  him.  She  felt  no  affront.  She  was  not 
angry.  For  he  showed  her — there  was  his  power — 
that  in  listening  to  him  she  lost  no  dignity  in  his 
eyes.  More  than  that;  she  received  the  ambiguous 

218 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

assurance  that  were  she  to  yield  to  him,  even  unlov- 
ing, she  would  gain  rather  than  lose  in  his  esteem. 
Yield?  The  word,  re-echoing  back,  incredibly,  upon 
her,  brought  a  sudden  shock  of  blood  to  her  cheeks. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  young  experience  she,  who 
had  contemplated  much  of  the  forbidden  fruit  of  life, 
untempted,  scornful  of  its  meretricious  gloss  and  glow, 
felt  the  charm  that  may  lie  in  temptation,  felt  the  im- 
pulse of  Eve,  the  impulse  to  put  out  her  hand — to 
touch,  if  not  to  pluck.  She  could  never  pluck;  never, 
never;  so  her  pounding  heart  reiterated;  yet  a  siren 
cry,  resonant,  haunting,  as  if  from  the  shores  of  the 
most  ancient  world,  rang  in  her  ears.  She  had  the 
vision  of  the  Lucretian  Venus,  implacable,  serene. 
And,  amazed,  incredulous,  she  saw  that  it  was  she  her- 
self, Persis,  who  listened  to  the  cry.  The  thought  of 
herself  as  listening  to  sirens,  of  herself  as  yielding  to 
the  unhallowed  passion  of  a  man  she  did  not  love,  was 
so  monstrous  that  she  was  able  to  dismiss  it,  a  night- 
mare that  had  crossed  the  stately  order  of  her  dreams. 
The  blush  still  dyed  her  cheeks,  but  she  had  mastered 
her  voice  and  gaze  as  she  answered :  "  I  am  not  af- 
fronted; but  I  do  not  love  you." 

Liidenstein  smiled.  "  But  of  course  you  do  not 
love  me.  And  you  have  almost  disliked  me.  I  saw 
it;  and  perhaps  I  am  dislikable.  That  does  not  mean 
unlovable,  be  it  said." 

"  I  do  not  dislike  you." 

"  Yet  you  are  not  indifferent  to  me  ?  " 

She  was  silent  at  this  for  a  moment.  The  qualm  of 
219 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

the  disavowed  nightmare  was  still  in  her  blood. 
"  That  may  be  only  because  of  your  feeling  for 
me." 

"  Ah,  precisely.  And  that  is  all  I  ask.  That  mj 
feeling  should  determine  yours." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  do  not  understand  you," 
she  said.  She  spoke  haughtily,  challenging  herself; 
for  this  was  only  to  put  out  her  hand,  to  touch  the 
fruit,  to  examine  it  with  a  mingling  of  repulsion  and 
delight. 

She  heard  the  slow  smile  in  his  voice,  for  her  eyes 
were  downcast.  "  Since  you  do  not  play  the  part  of 
the  affronted  simpleton,  Fraulein,  I  will  be  frank  with 
you  and  tell  you  that  what  I  hope  for,  what  I  desire 
to  make  possible  by  the  power  and  persistence  of  my 
feeling,  is  that  we  shall  one  day  share  the  intoxication 
of  love.  No,  I  see  it,  you  will  not  pretend  to  be  in- 
sulted. From  a  man  like  me,  who  laughs  at  laws  and 
customs,  it  is  no  insult." 

She  knew  that  it  was  not.  She,  too,  knew  no  other 
law  than  her  own  taste,  her  own  standard  of  fitness 
and  harmony.  And  she  did  not  love  this  man,  so  that 
she  was  in  need  of  no  conventional  barriers. 

"  So,  since  you  understand,  you  will  continue  to  let 
me  see  you,"  Liidenstein  added. 

"You  will  not  speak  of  this  again?"  Persis  asked. 

She  did  not  wish  him  to  speak  of  it,  that  was  true ; 
yet  beyond  the  stipulation  was  the  desire  to  feel  his 
feeling,  to  know  it  there,  held  in  check  by  her  will, 
offering,  in  silence,  its  ambiguous  homage. 

220 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  I  cannot  promise  that,"  said  Liidenstein,  after  a 
moment.  "  But  I  am  wise  and  tactful.  I  will  not 
displease  you,  that  I  can  promise;  nor  inconvenience 
you."  And  he  added,  watching  her  narrowly, 
"  Others  shall  not  guess.  That  would  be  to  incon- 
venience you,  would  it  not?" 

She  kept  her  eyes  on  his.  "  You  will  not  imagine 
that  I  am  consenting  to  a  clandestine  flirtation.  I 
accept  nothing  from  you.  I  only  do  not  send  you 
away  because  I  am  not  a  simpleton;  because  I  under- 
stand that  from  you  it  is  not  an  insult." 

He  was,  she  saw,  at  once  charmed  and  amused  by 
her  haughty  candour.  He  leaned  across  the  table  and 
put  a  finger-tip  on  her  hand.  "And  you  will  not 
think  me  so  stupid  as  not  to  understand  why  you  do 
not  send  me  away." 

He  understood.  Perhaps  better  than  she  herself 
did.  She  felt  the  pressure  of  that  kindly,  half  ironic 
comprehension  in  him,  as  of  one  who  has  seen  round 
and  through  the  scruples  and  qualified  acceptances  of 
many  women.  To  see  him  so  content  frightened  her 
again,  a  little.  But  the  sound  of  her  own  words  had 
fortified  her.  He  might  see  further  in  one  direction 
than  she  did,  in  another  he  did  not  see  so  far;  he 
could  not  really  understand  the  tastes  and  standards 
of  a  woman  like  herself.  He  thought  he  read  her 
strength;  he  read  only  her  weakness;  secure  in  the 
one,  she  could  admit  the  other.  This  was  a  conviction 
to  part  on.  She  rose,  putting  back  her  chair.  Then, 
when  he,  too,  had  risen,  she  paused.  "  You  say  that 

221 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

you  are  Ludwig's  friend.  How  does  what  you  have 
told  me  agree  with  your  loyalty  to  Ludwig?" 

"  But  my  dear  young  lady,  how  not  ?  "  said  Liiden- 
stein,  smiling  with  assurance.  "  Ludwig  has  accepted 
your  verdict.  The  field  is  free  for  other  aspirants." 

"  Has  he  accepted  it  ?" 

"Has  he  not?" 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  think  that  Ludwig  does  not 
still  hope.  I  have  every  reason  to  think  that  he 
does." 

Ludenstein  considered  her.  "  It  is  then  for  you  to 
say  whether  you  find  the  hope  so  justified  that  you 
must  send  me  away.  For  my  own  part " — his  tone 
changed — "  I  believe  that  you  are  as  far  from  loving 
Ludwig  as  you  are  from  loving  me ;  perhaps  further." 

"  I  do  love  him,"  said  Persis.  "  I  love  him  very 
much.  Of  you  I  can  only  say  that  I  do  not  dislike 
you." 

"  Ah,  that  love !  I  should  prefer  your  dislike ! " 
Ludenstein  smiled,  slowly  shaking  in  the  air  his  open 
hand.  "  No,  I  confess  I  should  have  no  hope  of  a 
woman  who  loved  me  in  that  fashion.  Therefore  I 
feel  no  disloyalty  towards  Ludwig." 

She  gathered  up  her  books  in  silence,  turning  to  the 
path,  and  Ludenstein  walked  beside  her.  They  had 
spoken  almost  in  the  tone  of  challenge  and  retort. 
She  was  thinking  now  of  Ludwig.  If  he  still  had 
hope,  why  did  he  not  make  it  manifest  and  protect 
her  from  this  experience  upon  which  she  was  ventur- 
ing? Had  he  been  a  lover  worthy  of  the  name, 

222 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Ludenstein  could  never  have  come  to  her  with  his 
avowal.  A  dart  of  her  mother's  irony  mingled  with 
deeper  bitterness  towards  Ludwig.  At  the  foot  of  the 
steps,  she  bade  Ludenstein  a  cool  farewell  and  left 
him. 

She  passed  through  the  salon,  unaware  of  the  eyes 
lifted  upon  her  from  the  table  and  sofa  and  easy- 
chairs,  and  went  to  her  room.  Dusk  was  falling  and 
by  the  line  of  light  under  her  mother's  door  she  saw 
that  she  had  come  from  her  bath  and  was  dressing 
for  dinner. 

From  the  earliest  days  of  her  childhood  she  had 
always  associated  her  mother  with  the  delicate  and 
evasive  perfume  of  violet  powder;  and  standing  now 
outside  her  door  in  the  dark  little  passage,  her  hand 
still  laid  on  the  stair-rail,  there  rushed  upon  her  a 
sensation  of  fear  and  helplessness  made  up  of  all  the 
atavistic  associations  that  clustered,  like  the  impal- 
pable mist  shaken  from  her  mother's  powder-puff, 
about  the  old  familiar  scent.  It  was  as  if  everything 
that  her  mother  instinctively  embodied  and  stood  for, 
as  if  generations  of  Ashleyville,  unaware  of  the  Lucre- 
tian  Venus  and  of  any  but  the  world  of  law  and  bond- 
age, spoke  suddenly  in  her,  or  to  her,  demolishing  the 
fabric  of  her  education  and  telling  her  in  staid,  in- 
genuous terms  that  it  was  wicked  to  allow  a  married 
man  to  make  love  to  you  and  perilous  to  keep  the 
secret  of  any  temptation  from  your  mother.  And  in 
reply  to  all  the  self- justifications  and  securities  of  the 
afternoon  she  seemed  to  hear  her  mother's  voice, 

223 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

speaking  for  the  generations  of  Ashley ville  and  say- 
ing :     "  Why,  Persis,  you  're  a  bad  girl." 

She  stood  there  in  the  dusk,  lightly  poised,  hovering, 
drawing  swift,  shallow  breaths,  and  the  impulse  to  go 
in  to  her  mother,  tell  her  all,  ask  her  for  advice,  was 
so  strong  that  she  felt  it  pass  in  a  tingling  thrill 
through  her  muscles  and  sway  her  towards  her 
mother's  door.  Then  astonishment  checked  it,  and 
the  realization  of  its  absurdity.  She  could  see  so 
clearly  the  powder-puff  in  its  silver  box  and,  turned 
to  her  above  it,  the  trite  little  face  that  was  like  the 
powder-puff  in  its  lightness  and  conventionality. 
What  an  absurd  person,  indeed,  of  whom  to  seek 
counsel!  With  the  ironic  perception  of  reality  came 
a  restoring  consciousness  of  her  own  resource,  detach- 
ment and  significance.  She  did  not  need  to  ask  coun- 
sel. There  was  nothing  to  be  afraid  of;  there  was 
exhilaration,  but  no  peril,  in  this  new  experience.  If 
she  still  breathed  quickly  as  she  tip-toed  into  her  own 
room,  that  was,  she  told  herself,  because,  after  all,  she 
was  young  and  not  accustomed  to  such  experiences. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

TT  TEHLITZ,  when  he  came  next  morning,  had  a 
V  V  large  parcel  of  proofs  under  his  arm.  It  was 
raining  and  Persis  awaited  him  in  the  little  sitting- 
room,  recognizing  at  once  in  his  demeanour  the  min- 
gling of  resolution  and  uncertainty.  He,  less  discern- 
ing she  felt  sure,  would  not  read  the  excitement  and 
anxiety  that  had  run  in  her  veins  since  her  interview 
with  Liidenstein.  She  was  not  aware  that  she  cloaked 
them  by  an  emphasized  kindliness. 

Wehlitz  unfolded  his  parcel  and  drew  from  it  the 
long  rolls  of  proof-sheets,  glancing  up  at  her  swiftly 
from  under  his  brows  as  he  did  so  with  a  scrutiny  at 
once  fierce  and  wistful.  This  was  the  great  prose 
poem  he  had  so  often  spoken  of  and  it  was  evident  to 
her,  touchingly  so,  that  by  this  demonstration  of  his 
genius  he  hoped  to  efface  the  memory  of  their  dispute 
and  to  bind  her  to  him  anew. 

"Yes,  Persis,"  he  said,  "the  time  has  come  when 
we  must  share  all.  I  had  not  felt  sure,  till  now,  of 
your  readiness.  It  needs  a  strong  brain  and  a  heart 
that  knows  no  tremors  to  listen  to  this  lion-voice. 
That  you  are  strong,  yes,  disciplined  already  for  one 
so  young,  is  evident  to  me.  Together  we  will  go 
over  these  final  proofs." 

225 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Ludwig,  really,  had  never  touched  her  more  than 
this  morning  when  his  hurried  sentences  revealed  the 
pathos  and  artificiality  of  the  situation.  Not  thus 
should  he  have  brought  his  sheaves  and  laid  them  at 
her  feet.  Fear  and  distrust  mingled  with  his  homage 
and  the  trophy  was  displayed  more  in  threat  or  appeal 
than  as  an  offering.  "  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said.  "  I 
felt  that  I  should  not  really  understand  you  until  I  had 
heard  it." 

"True,"  said  Ludwig.  "Those  who  have  not 
heard  or  who,  hearing,  have  been  deaf  to  my  meaning, 
are  strangers  to  me.  I  will  read  to  you.  I  will  sit 
here  and  you  there  so  that  I  may  see  your  face.  So. 
With  your  chair  a  little  more  turned  to  the  light, 
Persis." 

Wehlitz  had  a  deep  resonant  voice  and  when  he 
read  aloud  it  lost  the  fever  and  fretfulness  with  which 
the  turmoil  of  daily  life  so  often  edged  it.  His  own 
works  he  read  with  an  impassioned  gravity.  He 
plunged  her,  with  the  opening  stanza  into  a  realm  of 
uncanny  brightness  and  she  felt  a  hypnotic  quality  in 
his  rapid,  chanting,  exulting  utterance.  She  seemed 
at  first  to  hear  only  the  rhythm  of  the  sentences. 
They  were  arabesques  of  running  light  upon  the 
brightness  and  made  her  dizzy.  Only  after  a  little 
time  had  passed  could,  she  grasp  what  they  were  say- 
ing, and,  as  their  meaning  came,  a  new  realization  of 
alarm,  almost  of  distress,  rose  within  her.  It  was 
magical  and  sinister,  this  poem  of  Ludwig's,  full  of 
splendour  and  menace ;  with  exquisite  and  nimble  f  oot- 

226 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

steps  it  ran  and  danced  and  leaped  over  graves  and 
waves  and  altars,  and  always  in  an  uncanny  light  like 
that  of  a  baleful,  beautiful  star.  And  it  was  Ludwig 
who  had  made  this  marvellous  thing,  the  Ludwig 
whom  she  pitied  and  flouted  and  wondered  at.  Her 
distress  was  for  the  sense  of  incompatibility ;  for  why, 
since  his  work  was  so  great,  was  he  not  greater?  Her 
alarm  was  for  the  greatness  divined.  Was  such 
greatness  to  be  held  by  her?  Did  she  hold  it? 
Would  not  such  a  shaft  of  blinding  light  pierce  to 
the  bottom  of  her  confused  heart  and  read  the  dis- 
cords there?  But  if  it  could  so  pierce — her  quick 
thoughts  wove  themselves  into  the  glancing  pattern 
of  the  poem — it  must  win  her.  She  had  done  no 
wrong.  If  she  drifted,  it  was  because  he  did  not  put 
forth  greatness  and  hold  her.  It  was  not  enough  to 
show  his  greatness  to  her,  like  a  picture;  he  must  be 
it,  too.  He  must  claim  her,  hold  her  and  she  would 
never  drift  again. 

So  for  a  moment  her  new  fear  of  unworthiness 
gave  him  a  new  glamour  in  her  eyes. 

When  he  had  finished  the  chapter  he  looked  up  to 
find  her  eyes  dwelling  on  him;  and  very  deeply  they 
seemed  to  dwell. 

"  You  care  for  it,  Persis  ?  "  he  asked,  and  in  a  voice 
that  trembled. 

Her  voice,  too,  trembled  as  she  answered  him.  "  It 
is  beautiful;  it  is  wonderful." 

To  see  the  homage  of  her  gaze  intoxicated  him. 
"  Ah,"  he  said  with  a  laugh  almost  wild,  "  I  shall 

227 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

write  now.  All  will  now  be  well  with  me.  It  is  as 
I  had  hoped  and  believed  when  I  first  met  you.  Your 
presence  will  banish  the  phantoms.  For  I  have  had 
arid  times,  Persis;  times  with  no  life,  no  thought; 
dull  welterings  of  gloom  and  doubt — not  of  my  truth, 
no,  never  of  my  truth ;  that  is  there,  above  me,  secure, 
triumphant;  but  of  myself,  of  power  to  seize  and  make 
it  manifest — the  bright,  the  terrible  truth.  Yes — 
yes — yes,  all  will  now  be  well." 

He  had  leaned  forward  across  the  table  and  she  had 
given  her  hands  into  his;  but  it  was  as  if  unseemgly 
that  he  pressed  them,  not  looking  at  her  as  he  went 
on ;  "  You  feel  it  and  you  will  understand  it.  Later. 
This  is  but  the  beginning.  Later  you  will  see  and 
accept  it  all.  For  life  says  even  to  the  most  dread 
vision!  So  be  it.  So  I  will  it. — Even  the  nightmare 
life  can  clasp  and  smile  upon  as  a  bride." 

"What  nightmare  do  you  speak  of,  Ludwig?"  she 
asked.  His  heavy  yet  exalted  gaze  dwelt  on  nothing- 
ness. She  wished  that  he  would  look  at  her. 

But  though  he  turned  his  eyes  on  her  now  it  was 
for  a  moment  only.  "  What  nightmare  ? "  he  re- 
peated. "  Have  I  not  told  you?  " 

"  There  are  so  many  that  we  must  face,"  said  Persis. 
She  was  not  thinking  of  nightmares,  but  of  him. 

He  considered  her  again.  "  The  eternal  return  of 
all  things;  cycle  upon  cycle  of  life  repeating  itself  with 
mathematical  exactitude  through  immeasurable  time. 
For  an  infinite  universe  such  repetition  is  a  necessity. 
That  is  what  I  mean.  Is  it  not  manifest  in  all  I  write ? 

228 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

I  must  make  it  manifest.  My  life  depends  upon  it. 
It  is  on  my  truth  that  I  take  my  stand  against  all  the 
dealers  in  sops  and  soporifics.  The  sharp,  the  bright, 
the  cutting  truth  for  me.  And  for  you,  Persis;  for 
you.  Nicht  wahrf  We  will  play  with  the  swords, 
you  and  I,  we  will  toss  them  in  our  hands,  unharmed, 
and  dance  between  them  and  see,  unmoved,  others  fall 
among  them,  gashed  and  bleeding." 

He  spoke  to  her,  but  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
her,  lifting  his  hands  from  hers,  rising,  putting  back 
his  chair  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room.  She  remem- 
bered now  the  conception  of  which  he  spoke.  It  had 
remained  for  her  a  picture  looked  at,  not  felt.  She 
had  found  no  horror  in  it.  The  swing  through  space 
and  time,  as  of  a  vast  pendulum  that  was  to  bring 
her  back  again  and  again,  the  selfsame  Persis,  affected 
her  imagination  like  the  vision  of  a  Flying  Victory, 
ominous  yet  glorious,  with  wings  outspread  in  endless 
flight.  But  as  he  spoke  now,  in  his  voice  a  mingled 
ecstasy  and  dread  as  of  the  moth  that  circles  round 
the  fatal  light,  she  felt  the  infection  of  his  fear  rise 
dimly  in  her.  She  saw  it  like  a  mildew  running  over 
the  glancing  blade  that  he  had  put  into  her  hands ;  that 
blade,  that  exalting,  aspiring  life,  cruel,  yet  with  love 
for  a  higher  than  itself  at  the  heart  of  its  cruelty ;  that 
cry  to  endless  self-transcendence,  what  had  it  to  do 
with  this  suffocating  destiny?  To  ask  the  question, 
to  think  intently,  to  find  answers,  was  to  burnish  the 
blade  anew,  to  free  herself  from  the  infection.  And 
as  some  time  had  passed  and  as  Ludwig  still  paced  the 

229 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

room,  she  said :  "  But  your  poem  is  above  all 
theories.  Why  trouble  about  theories?" 

He  stopped  short.  He  was  behind  her  and  she 
heard  his  hurried,  difficult  breathing.  "  Theory  ?  It 
is  not  theory.  It  is  truth.  It  is  necessity — no  mere 
illustration  or  simile." 

"  Whose  necessity  ?  "  Persis  asked  again  after  an- 
other moment. 

"  Ours,  ours,  ours,"  said  Ludwig :  "  our  will.  It 
is  so.  It  must  be  so.  For  there  is  no  other  will  than 
ours."  He  had  continued  to  stand  behind  her  chair, 
but  now,  coming  round  the  table,  he  confronted  her, 
bending  his  strangely  lighted  eyes  upon  her.  "  I  know 
it,  Persis,"  he  said.  "  I,  alone,  perhaps,  of  all  men, 
know  it,  and  with  a  knowledge  deeper  than  any  demon- 
stration can  bring.  It  came  to  me.  Listen.  I  will 
tell  you."  He  drew  his  chair  close  to  hers  and  leaned 
his  face  to  hers,  looking  into  her  eyes.  "  It  was  in 
the  high  Alps,  among  the  peaks,  the  snowy  solitudes, 
sublime  and  awful.  The  dread  initiation  came.  I 
was  alone.  Men  were  forgotten,  below  me  in  the 
valleys.  Above  me  was  the  empty  sky.  And  with 
my  hand  I  felt  the  texture  of  reality;  with  my  eyes 
I  saw  its  face;  my  breath  mingled  with  its  icy,  sunny 
breath.  It  was  the  mystic's  rapture  that  I  knew; 
but  my  abyss,  my  height,  was  a  deeper,  a  higher  one 
than  any  of  the  hosts  of  the  self -suggested  have  ever 
plumbed  or  scaled.  They  come  with  their  yearning 
and  the  abyss  echoes  back  to  them  the  vast  reverbera- 
tion of  their  feeble  sighs.  But  I  came  without  yearn- 

230 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ing,  I  came  all  a  challenge  and  a  readiness.  For  ever 
and  ever,  and  again  and  again,  the  wheel  will  turn 
and  turn.  Such  is  our  immortality.  Such  the  love 
of  life  that  urges  us  ever  forward  until  the  circle  is 
complete.  There  is  no  escape.  There  is  no  transcen- 
dence. For  ever  we  shall  return  and  changelessly  be 
ourselves  again.  And  deeper  than  the  dread  is  the  ac- 
ceptance, the  acceptance  that  is  life.  Yes;  for  the 
gaze  of  the  true  psychologist  there  is  truth  in  the  im- 
mediacy that  the  mystics  find;  for  they,  too,  dread, 
and  they,  too,  accept,  though  it  is  their  own  self-love 
that  they  find  again  the  immense  mirage  of  absolute 
love  where  they  are  lost  yet  found.  It  is  our  heart- 
beat, that  acceptance.  I  heard  it.  I  alone  have  heard 
it.  For  days,  for  three  days,  I  was  as  one  distraught. 
I  ran  and  leapt  among  the  snow-fields.  I  had  no  food. 
I  cannot  think  I  slept.  I  was  at  one  with  life.  I  was 
baptised  to  the  spirit.  It  was  a  rapture  of  joy  and 
horror." 

All  the  time  that  he  had  been  speaking  their  eyes 
had  met,  but  now  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands, 
covering  his  face.  Persis  sat  looking  at  him.  He 
had  become  wraith-like  to  her;  she  was  wraith-like  to 
herself  and,  venturing  a  glance,  almost  cautious,  down 
at  her  folded  hands  and  around  the  room,  the  prosaic 
little  room,  she  found  that  all  objects  had  endued 
themselves  with  this  spectral  unreality.  His  message 
in  its  immediacy  had  wrought  with  the  inevitable 
power  of  all  immediacy  upon  her,  so  that  she,  too, 
partook  of  his  conversion,  she,  too,  knew  the  uncanny 

231 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

baptism,  to  horror  and  darkness,  not  to  peace  and 
light.  But,  as  yet,  she  did  not  know  how  profoundly 
he  had  moved  her.  She  was  able,  after  a  moment,  to 
grasp  at  the  seeming  reality  that  surrounded  her  and 
to  say,  though  in  a  voice  strange  to  herself,  looking 
back  at  his  bent  head.  "  You  are  tired,  Ludwig.  I 
am  afraid  that  you  are  very  tired." 

The  irrelevancy  and  inappropriateness  of  this  re- 
mark did  not  seem  to  strike  him.  He  answered 
vaguely  after  a  moment.  "  Tired  ?  I  am  always 
tired." 

"  Dear  Ludwig,  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said.  Her 
voice  was  gentle,  remote,  contemplative. 

Wehlitz  rubbed  his  hands  across  his  brows,  dropped 
them  and  met  her  eyes  with  a  vague,  dazed  smile. 
"  I  am  always  tired,"  he  repeated.  "  Life  to  me  is 
endless  combat.  I  have  not  the  strength  of  my  own 
vision — not  the  strength  needed  to  live  with  it  and  by 
its  light.  But  now  I  am  not  alone.  I  am  not  alone, 
Persis,  for  you  are  with  me.  It  was  that  I  needed; 
another  hand,  which,  when  my  lamp  burned  low, 
would  shelter  it  and  feed  it  anew  with  oil."  He  looked 
down  and  she  saw  it  was  because  his  eyes  had  filled 
with  tears. 

No  trappings  now;  no  tinsel.  He  was  nearer  her, 
stronger  in  his  acknowledged  human  frailty,  than  she 
could  have  believed  possible  so  soon  after  the  foolish 
upbraiding  of  the  day  before.  But  how  far  he  was 
from  the  Ludwig  she  had  dreamed  of  only  a  little 
while  ago.  And  she  feared  the  claim  he  made  upon 

232 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

her.  And  she  longed  to  be  worthy  of  it.  She  was 
sick  with  compassion  and  shrinking.  She  rose  with 
a  sensation  of  flight. 

"  You  must  go  and  rest,  Ludwig,"  she  said,  "  and 
so  must  I.  After  your  poem  one  needs  to  shut  one's 
eyes  and  get  one's  breath." 

He  started  to  his  feet.  "  It  is  true !  It  is  true ! 
Closed  eyes,  quiet  breathing,"  he  muttered;  "in  the 
dark  after  the  thunder  and  lightning."  She  saw  now 
what  it  had  been,  that  uncanny  brightness,  that  bale- 
ful and  beautiful  light  which  had  affected  her  with 
hypnotic  giddiness.  The  Eternal  Return;  that  was 
the  glare,  the  gaze,  the  steady  horrid  smile.  But  she 
had  turned  away  from  it,  plunging  herself  in  the 
trivial,  sustaining  appearances  it  made  manifest.  Her 
mind  clung  to  her  pity  for  Ludwig,  to  projects  for  his 
well-being.  She  urged  upon  him  the  need  for  nourish- 
ment before  he  slept.  "  To-morrow,  yes,  indeed,  to- 
morrow/' she  answered  him,  going  with  him  to  the 
door.  "  I  will  be  ready  to-morrow."  She  smiled  at 
him  and  the  smile  seemed  the  banner  of  an  intrepid 
alpine  climber  overlooking  the  world  from  a  dizzy 
ledge  before  turning  to  the  higher  peaks. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ON  a  warm  afternoon,  a  week  or  so  later,  Persis 
came  down  from  her  studies  and  went  through 
the  garden  to  the  river-path.  Mrs.  Fennamy,  at  this 
hour,  always  sat,  when  it  was  fine,  out  of  doors  with 
her  sewing,  and,  as  Eleanora  took  a  nap,  Persis  knew 
that  she  should  find  her  mother  alone.  She  was  un- 
aware of  seeking  a  refuge  in  her  mother,  hardly  aware 
of  seeking  her;  the  instinct  which  moved  her  was  that 
with  which  a  child  turns  from  the  vaguely  looming 
phantoms  of  midnight  and  buries  its  face  in  its  pillow. 
Soon,  among  the  golden  turnings  of  the  path,  she 
caught  sight  of  the  glimmer  of  white  and  black  and 
blue,  and  found  her  mother  sitting  on  her  favourite 
bench  under  the  trees.  Persis  came  and  stood  before 
her,  looking  about  her  for  some  moments,  and  then, 
as  her  mother,  with  a  quiet,  welcoming  glance,  con- 
tinued to  sew,  she  sat  down  beside  her,  and,  leaning 
her  arm  along  the  back  of  the  bench,  picked  vaguely 
at  the  loosened  pieces  of  bark  upon  it. 

"  Tired  ?  "  Mrs.  Fennamy  inquired,  presently. 

"  Yes,  I  am  rather  tired,"  said  Persis.  "  I  Ve  been 
reading  since  luncheon,  and  I  felt  quite  dizzy  when  I 
got  up  from  my  books." 

"  Were  you  in  the  sitting-room  ?  It 's  a  pity  to 
234 


sit  in  your  own  room ;  the  sun  's  so  hot  there  in  the 
afternoon." 

"  I  know ;  but  I  like  it  better ;  there  is  more  air. 
The  sitting-room  is  a  dismal  little  hole." 

"  I  expect  the  sun  's  made  your  head  ache,"  Mrs. 
Fennamy  suggested,  and  Persis  said: 

"  Perhaps  it  has." 

A  silence  fell.  Few  people  passed  along  the  river- 
path.  It  was  very  warm.  There  was  hardly  a  stir 
in  the  poplars  and  the  river  seemed  to  breathe  rather 
than  to  flow. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Persis,  suddenly,  while  her  hand 
continued  to  work  at  the  bits  of  loosened  bark, 
"  would  you  like  it  if  you  were  told  that  you  would 
sit  here,  like  this,  with  me,  on  an  afternoon  like  this, 
with  the  river  running  there  and  the  sun  and  that 
strip  of  sewing  in  your  hands — that  you  were  to  find 
yourself  like  this  over  and  over  again  for  ever  and 
ever?" 

Mrs.  Fennamy,  while  she  went  on  sewing,  con- 
templated the  proposition  put  before  her.  "  Well, 
this  is  rather  pleasant,  isn't  it?"  she  said.  "I 
should  n't  mind  this  sort  of  thing  coming  over  and 
over  again." 

"  Ah,  but  of  course  it  would  not  be  only  pleasant 
things  that  came.  The  dreadful  things  would  come, 
too." 

"Yes;  if  everything  came  over  and  over  again, 
the  dreadful  things  would  come  too,  of  course,"  Mrs. 
Fennamy  assented. 

235 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Persis  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "  I  've  sometimes 
thought  that  was  the  way  things  worked,"  Mrs. 
Fennamy  went  on,  answering  her  daughter's  look. 
"  I  got  an  idea  of  it  when  your  father  used  to  tell  me 
about  the  nebulas  making  worlds,  and  then  people 
coming  from  monkeys,  and  then  things  evoluting  along 
until  the  planets  and  stars  and  all  of  it  crashed  up 
together  again  and  went  back  to  nebula.  I  can't  see 
any  reason  why,  once  it 's  started,  it  should  n't  all 
work  out  regularly." 

Persis,  her  hand  stilled,  gazed  at  her.  As  her  si- 
lence grew  long,  her  mother  again  looked  up,  "  What 
difference  would  it  make  ?  "  she  inquired.  "  If  it 's 
so,  it 's  gone  on  for  ever,  and  we  don't  remember 
anything  about  it." 

Persis  continued  to  gaze.  "  We  may  not  remem- 
ber; but  if  we  come  to  know?  If  in  tragic  moment? 
and  in  all  the  long,  dragging  years  of  monotonous 
misery  that  people  have,  they  come  to  know  that  it  is 
all  to  come  round  again,  for  ever  and  ever?  It  seems 
to  me  that  it  would  be  a  sort  of  hell." 

Mrs.  Fennamy  considered.  "  But  no  one  can  ever 
know,"  she  objected.  "And  no  one  can  remember. 
We  've  never  remembered  yet,  so  we  shan't  begin  to. 
I  don't  see  why  it 's  worse  to  go  through  it  millions 
of  times  than  to  go  through  it  once,  so  long  as  you 
don't  remember.  Has  Herr  Wehlitz  been  talking 
about  it,  Persis  ?  " 

Persis  turned  her  head  away,  to  look  before  her  at 
the  river.  "Yes.  He  thinks  he  knows.  It  is  a  be- 

236 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

lief  of  his.     He  thinks  he  can  prove  it,"   she  said. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  Mrs.  Fennamy  murmured,  and  as, 
after  this,  she  kept  silence,  Persis  went  on,  irrele- 
vantly it  might  seem : 

"  I  suppose  you  have  always  found  life  worth  while, 
mamma?  " 

"  Well,  I  Ve  always  found  it  interesting,"  said  Mrs. 
Fennamy,  after  a  moment. 

"  Although,  of  course,  you  must  often  have  been 
very  unhappy.  Unhappiness  is  n't  the  worst  thing,  of 
course." 

"  Well,  it  can  be  pretty  bad  when  it  seems  just  not 
to  mean  anything." 

"  Ah !  That  is  just  it,"  Persis  murmured.  "  When 
it  seems  not  worth  while;  not  even  interesting.  And 
how  can  things  seem  worth  while  if  they  are  to  be 
repeated  for  ever  ?  " 

"  Why,  we  'd  go  on  thinking  them  worth  while  over 
and  over  again,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy. 

"  Should  we  ?  "  said  Persis. 

After  this  they  relapsed  into  silence  for  some  time. 
The  young  girl  sat  leaning  forward,  her  hands  folded 
together  between  her  knees,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  path. 
She  had  a  curious  idea.  The  still  day  seemed  to  have 
become  a  great,  softly  swinging,  golden  globe,  enclos- 
ing her  in  loneliness.  She  felt  appalled  by  the  lone- 
liness. She  rose  suddenly.  "  I  think,  mamma,  that 
I  shall  go  and  have  a  little  walk,"  she  said.  "  I  think 
that  I  shall  find  Herr  Sachs,  and  make  him  walk  with 
me." 

237 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Her  mother  raised  eyes  in  which  surprise  mingled 
with  solicitude.  "  Going  to  find  Herr  Sachs,  Per- 
sis  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  How  do  you  mean,  find  him  ?  " 

"  At  his  lodgings,  if  he  is  there.  I  want  to  talk  to 
him." 

"  But  I  thought  Graf  von  Liidenstein  was  coming 
to  play  to  us  this  afternoon.  You  said  he  might,  you 
remember." 

A  faint  flush  rose  to  Persis's  cheek.  "  Did  I  ? 
Well,  you  must  listen  to  him,  mamma,  or  send  him 
away." 

"  And  what  excuses  shall  I  make  ?  "  Mrs.  Fennamy 
asked,  after  a  moment. 

"  Tell  him  that  I  have  gone  for  a  walk  with  Herr 
Sachs,"  said  Persis.  She  turned  away.  She  hardly 
knew  whether  she  intended  to  go  to  Conrad.  She 
only  knew  that  her  mother,  with  her  innocent  echo, 
was  as  dreadful  as  Ludwig,  and  that  she  must  escape 
her. 

She  walked  rapidly  along  the  turnings  of  the  little 
path,  and  she  was  thinking  of  Graf  von  Liidenstein 
as  she  went.  Why  should  she  go  to  Herr  Sachs,  when 
Graf  von  Ludenstein  would  come  in  an  hour  and  play 
to  her  and  when  she  could,  if  she  liked,  go  out  for  a 
walk  with  him  instead?  She  had  not  seen  him  alone 
since  the  day  in  the  orchard.  Yet  though  her  mind 
lingered  on  the  thought,  it  did  not  tempt  her.  She 
did  not  feel  that  anything  could  tempt  her  to-day.  She 
felt  only  the  loneliness  and  the  sick  desire  for  escape, 
and  she  did  not  feel  that  escape  was  to  be  found  with 

238 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Graf  von  Liidenstein.  When  she  came  to  the  little 
waterfall,  she  stepped  out  on  the  rustic  bridge  that 
spanned  it  and  leaned  there  for  some  time,  looking 
down  at  the  clear,  deep,  sliding  water,  and  as  she 
looked  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  stood  there  look- 
ing down  innumerable  times;  and  so  dizzily  did  the 
golden  globe  of  the  day  turn  with  her  that  for  a  mo- 
ment, closing  her  eyes,  she  laid  her  head  down  on  her 
arms  in  a  trance  of  terror.  The  thought  of  Conrad 
came,  like  a  faint  knocking,  from  far  away.  She 
raised  herself.  Yes;  that  was  it — his  mother's  gift. 
She  remembered  suddenly.  They  must  choose  it  to- 
gether, and  a  gaiety  almost  light-headed  filled  her  as 
she  left  the  bridge  and  walked  rapidly  into  the  town. 
She  knew  that  it  was  a  fictitious  gaiety,  dry,  dead, 
rustling;  but  she  clung  to  it,  even  forcing  her  steps 
to  chime  to  some  lilt  of  rhythm  as  she  went.  Her 
mood  recalled  to  her  a  time  in  childhood  when,  hor- 
ribly frightened  by  a  picture  she  had  seen,  she  ran, 
in  the  hotel  where  they  were  staying,  to  the  bath-room, 
undressed  quickly,  and  sank  down  into  a  tub  of  deep 
hot  water,  closing  her  eyes  and  steeping  herself  in 
the  obliterating  sensuous  pleasure.  Yes;  it  was  like 
that,  this  gaiety  at  the  thought  of  a  present  for  Frau 
Sachs ;  and  even  better,  for  it  did  not  seem  to  obliterate 
so  much  as  to  lead  to  something,  to  put  a  clue  in  her 
hand. 

She  reached  the  little  street,  found  the  door,  and 
knocked;  and  then,  almost  immediately,  she  saw  him 
leaning  from  above. 

239 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  I  have  come  for  you,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him. 
She  did  not  smile  now,  and  the  impulse  that  had 
brought  her  to  him  lit  her  face  with  a  still,  cold  bright- 
ness. "  Yes,"  she  went  on,  seeing  his  astonishment, 
"  I  am  going  to  interrupt  all  your  studies.  Tell  Lud- 
wig  that  I  have  done  so,  if  you  like!  You  are  to 
come  out  with  me,  and  get  the  present  for  your 
mother." 

"  The  present  for  my  mother,  Fraulein  ?  "  Sachs 
echoed.  And  feeling  that  she  was  almost  happy,  she 
laughed,  as  an  imperious  fairy  appearing  to  waft  one 
irresistibly  away  might  have  laughed,  and  said: 

"  Yes ;  come  down  at  once." 

The  young  man's  amazed  scrutiny  overhung  her 
for  another  moment;  then  his  head  was  withdrawn, 
submissively,  it  was  evident.  Soon  she  heard  his 
crutch  on  the  stair,  and  then  the  door  opened  and  he 
stepped  out  beside  her,  the  funny  round  hat  on  his 
head  and  another  tie  hastily  adjusted — not  that  this 
red-spotted  green  was  an  improvement. 

It  seemed  to  Persis  now  that  she  felt  quite  happy. 
She  would  have  liked  to  sing,  to  skip,  to  whistle,  as 
they  walked  away  together,  she  adapting  her  light 
stride  to  his  broken  pace.  "  Do  you  ever  feel,"  she 
said,  "that  unless  you  are  very  nonsensical  you  will 
be  very  unhappy — for  no  reason  at  all,  I  mean  ?  Are 
you  ever  unreasonable?  I  feel  like  that  to-day.  If 
I  had  n't  found  you,  if  you  had  refused  to  come,  I 
should  probably  have  gone  and  jumped  into  the 
river — just  under  the  waterfall,  you  know.  The 

240 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

water  is  very  deep  there,  and  one's  head  might  not 
come  up  too  often  as  one  drowned — especially  if  one 
had  the  good  fortune  in  falling  to  strike  it  on  a  rock." 
Her  pale  face  and  pale  radiant  eyes  sparkled  with  a 
challenging  gaiety. 

He  answered  in  the  key  she  set,  though  his  eyes 
studied  her.  But  she  could  trust  him  to  understand 
and  to  feel  the  reality  that  her  words  might  seem  to 
flout.  He  smiled.  "  But  there  are  so  few  rocks  in 
the  river.  And  the  force  of  the  current  would  carry 
you  quickly  to  a  shallow  spot.  You  would  have  had 
to  wade  ashore,  Fraulein,  in  a  most  humiliating 
fashion,  twenty  yards  below  the  bridge." 

"  Life  is  full  of  such  puerile  ironies,"  said  Persis. 
"  And  you  uphold  it !  You  applaud  it !  I  know  that 
you  do.  You  would  think  it  altogether  satisfactory 
that  a  person  who  wished  to  leave  it  should  have  to 
wade  ashore  shamefacedly." 

"  I  am  glad,  certainly,  if  a  person  is  given  time  for 
reflection." 

"  Because  you  think  that  reflection  would  always 
lead  them  to  prefer  life." 

"  I  hope  so,  Fraulein.  It  is  often  the  case,  is  it 
not?" 

"  It  is  more  often  the  case,  I  think,  that  we  prefer 
life  when  we  do  not  allow  ourselves  to  reflect.  Have 
you  ever  known  anyone  who  was  given  further  time 
and  was  glad  of  it?" 

"  Yes,"  he  nodded,  still  smiling,  if  with  a  touch  of 
constraint.  "  Yes ;  I  have  known  such  a  one." 

241 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

It  might  have  been  himself.  She  felt  sure  that  it 
had  been  himself.  And  she  could  see  that  ugly,  comic 
face  stricken  with  despair. 

"  And  have  you  ever  known  anyone  who  suc- 
ceeded ?  "  she  went  on. 

"  Yes.  A  friend  of  mine,  in  my  student  days,  in 
Leipsig,  shot  himself." 

"Why  did  he  do  it?" 

"  He  had  persuaded  himself,  Fraulein,  that  he  knew 
what  was  to  be  known  of  life  and  that  it  was  value- 
less. He  reflected  too  much,  you  will  say,  for  one  so 
young.  There  was  pride,  too,  in  the  act.  He  had 
often  talked  to  us,  his  comrades,  of  his  intention  to 
kill  himself." 

"  I  should  not  do  it  from  pride,"  said  Persis,  after 
a  little  silence,  "  but  from  finding  life  valuless — I  can 
imagine  that — from  emptiness,  apathy,  deadness  of 
heart — from  unwillingness  to  will  any  longer.  Not 
that  I  shall  be  tempted  for  many  years;  I  am  too  full 
of  life.  But  I  can  imagine  that  state  of  unwillingness 
to  will." 

"  Yes.     I  too.     It  is  the  final  temptation." 

They  had  walked  on,  away  from  the  town,  and  had 
now  entered  on  a  broad  road  where  a  few  scattered 
houses  with  their  gardens  and  two  rows  of  old  linden 
trees  marked  the  merging  of  the  town  into  the  coun- 
try. Beyond  the  lindens  the  road  ran  between  fields, 
bordered  with  autumnal  field-flowers.  On  a  bench 
under  one  of  the  lindens  they  sat  down.  Persis  was 
never  to  forget  the  day ;  the  bright,  dreamy  fields  and 

242 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

the  sky  and  the  scattered  gold  of  the  linden  leaves 
about  them. 

"  But  if  one  cannot  will,  one  cannot,  and  there  is 
an  end  of  it,"  she  said.  "  How  can  it  be  a  tempta- 
tion?" 

"  There  is  always  the  power  to  will,  Fraulein,  unless 
the  brain  is  diseased." 

"  To  will  what  ?  What  can  save  anyone  in  the 
moment  when  they  do  not  desire  life?  And  why 
should  they  be  saved  ?  " 

Sachs  was  silent  for  some  moments,  vaguely  stir- 
ring with  the  end  of  his  crutch  the  golden  leaves.  He 
said  at  length :  "  One  can  always  will  to  pray." 

"To  pray?"  Her  echo  came  after  a  pause  of  the 
astonishment  he  so  often  caused  her.  A  certain  in- 
dignation, too,  was  in  her  voice.  Was  this  the  stone 
he  had  to  offer? 

"  Yes,  Fraulein,"  said  Sachs.  "  That  means  noth- 
ing to  you,  or,  worse  than  nothing — jugglery,  self- 
deception.  You  have  never  prayed.  Life — what  you 
think  of  as  desirable — is  still,  as  you  say,  so  strong  in 
you,  and  it  has  always  been  enough." 

"  No ;  I  have  never  prayed,"  she  assented.  "  I  do 
not  believe  that  there  is  anyone  or  anything  to  pray 
to." 

He  was  silent,  looking  down  at  the  leaves,  and  as 
some  time  then  passed  and  he  said  nothing,  she  found 
herself  forced  to  ask,  if  still  with  the  note  of  resent- 
ment :  "  What  happens  when  you  pray  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  put  it  into  words,  Frau- 
243 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

lein,"  said  Sachs,  who,  though  he  must  be  aware  of 
her  displeasure,  showed  no  sign  of  his  frequent  shy- 
ness. And  now  she  said  with  some  urgency : 

"  Well,  try  to  tell  me — to  explain." 

"  The  words  would  only  mean  foolishness  to  you, 
Fraulein." 

"  No ;  they  will  not.     No,  I  promise  you." 

He  met  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  then  said :  "  I 
will  try,  Fraulein.  In  that  deadness,  that  apathy  you 
speak  of,  a  breath  blows  upon  us,  we  may  not  know 
from  where,  when  we  pray.  It  is  the  spirit  of  life 
answering  our  spirit.  We  feel  this  breath,  and  the 
desire  for  life  again  arises  in  us — we  will  to  will,  to 
be,  to  love.  You  do  not  know  it  yet,  Fraulein,  nor 
believe  in  it;  but  it  is  the  world's  great  reality,  this 
breath  of  the  spirit."  He  looked  away  from  her  now 
and  down  at  the  golden  leaves  that  his  stick  still 
stirred  softly,  and  he  went  on,  but  as  if  he  were  speak- 
ing to  himself  rather  than  to  her :  "  Woe  to  him  who 
does  not  listen  to  the  voice  when  it  speaks  and  who 
does  not  follow  when  it  calls  within  him!  It  is  not 
emptiness  he  will  then  know,  but  chains  and  darkness, 
perhaps  despair.  We  choke  and  stifle  if  we  refuse  to 
breathe  with  the  breath  of  the  spirit  when  it  comes  to 
us.  But  if  we  listen  and  rise  up  and  gird  ourselves — 
always,  always  you  will  find  it  so,  for  it  cannot  fail 
— it  creates  new  life  in  us.  And  it  is  then  that  our 
will — I  have  often  thought  it — becomes  like  the  spider 
that  launches  itself  upon  the  breeze.  We  spin  the 
web  we  live  by.  Life  grows  round  us,  ring  by  ring, 

244 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

in  beauty,  though  it  may  be  with  much  pain  and  ef- 
fort. And  with  the  growing  life  comes  faith  in  life. 
Why  will  they  call  it  illusion?  It  is  the  only  reality, 
this  life-created  life.  And  why  distrust  the  joy  that 
is  its  sanction?  Why  should  despair  be  conceived  of 
as  the  seal  of  truth?  It  is  the  lure  of  death;  it  is 
death,  strewing  dust  in  our  souls.  Truth  may  be  sad 
and  difficult,  but  joy  comes  with  the  acceptance  of  it 
if  the  breath  of  the  spirit  is  in  us  making  us  strong." 

Persis  sat  gazing  at  his  quiet  profile.  It  was 
strange  to  her  to  hear  him  speak  with  this  gentle  abso- 
luteness and  without  the  tone  of  conventional  piety 
which  she  associated  with  such  words.  He  himself, 
rather  than  what  he  said,  absorbed  her.  Yet,  though 
what  he  said  seemed  far  away  and  unattainable,  like 
ranges  of  white  cloud  shining  on  the  horizon,  some- 
thing of  its  power  and  tranquillity  enveloped  her,  and 
in  her  heart  something  dimly  stirred  as  though  it  felt, 
faintly  upon  it,  that  breath  of  which  he  spoke. 

A  long  time  seemed  to  pass  before  she  wished  to 
speak,  and  the  wish  came  with  a  sense  of  perplexity. 
"  Do  you  know,  it  is  strange,  but  what  you  have  said 
makes  me  think  of  what  Ludwig  says,  though  so 
differently.  I  see  Ludwig's  thought  always  like  a 
torch  waving  in  darkness.  Your  thought  is  like  a 
star;  one  of  those  stars  at  evening,  so  far  away,  so 
faint  that  at  moments  you  lose  it,  and  then  again  so 
keen  that  you  wonder  you  do  not  always  keep  it.  Yet 
the  star  makes  me  think  of  the  torch." 

He  had  raised  his  head,  and  he  was  looking  at  her, 
245 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

with  delight,  it  was  evident.  His  eyes  ardently  exam- 
ined her  as  if  to  read  how  deeply  she  might  herself 
be  aware  of  the  meaning  of  her  own  words. 

"  You  see  it  too,  Fraulein !  You  see  that  it  is  what 
Ludwig  says!  That  makes  me  very  happy.  It  is 
true;  so  few  see  it,  but  it  is  true.  Change  but  one 
word  in  his  creed,  only  put  love  in  place  of  power,  and 
it  is  done.  Ah,  but  this  is  wonderful,  to  know  that 
you,  too,  see !  " 

"  Yes ;  the  life-creating  will.  But  with  Ludwig  it 
all  swings  in  emptiness."  She  thought  of  her  golden 
globe  of  horror.  Ludwig's  nightmare  theory  was 
there,  lying  under  everything  at  the  bottom  of  her 
mind.  She  had  refused  to  promise  Ludwig  that  she 
would  not  ask  counsel  as  to  his  doctrine  of  Herr 
Sachs;  yet  she  would  keep  silence  as  to  that  darkest 
fear.  Herr  Sachs  would  feel  it  right  that  she  should. 

"  Ludwig  is  an  unhappy  man,  Fraulein,"  he  said. 
"  He  is  in  prison.  But  the  prison  wall  will  break. 
He  will  breathe.  He  will  come  to  see  that  the  life  he 
accepts,  the  life  he  praises,  is  more  than  his  and  ours, 
more  than  the  life  of  some  future  perfected  hu- 
manity's. Without  that  love  encompassing  all  things, 
yes,  we  should  swing  in  emptiness." 

"  But  how  could  the  prison  break  ?  "  Persis  asked. 
"  What  is  there  to  break  it?  " 

"  Sometimes,  Fraulein,  it  is  happiness  that  breaks 
the  prison  and  lets  the  air  of  heaven  in." 

Sachs's  eyes  still  dwelt  on  her  with  their  vicarious 
ardour.  She  could  not  meet  it.  She  could  not  think 

246 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

of  Ludwig  and  his  prison  to-day.  Ludwig,  too, 
seemed  far  away.  Only  Herr  Sachs  was  near  her, 
saving  her  from  loneliness.  She  rose.  "  It  would 
need  some  one  who  could  pray  to  break  Ludwig's 
prison,"  she  said.  "  And  how  could  one  pray  while 
one  was  his  pupil?  It  is  a  vicious  circle.  But  come; 
let  us  look  for  your  mother's  present  now.  What 
shall  it  be?  A  coffee-set?  That  is  what  I  thought 
of.  I  know  a  shop  where  they  sell  pretty  china." 

He  had  remained  for  a  moment  looking  up  at  her, 
still  earnestly,  as  though  unwilling  to  accept  this 
sudden  arbitrariness.  Then,  faintly  grimacing,  as 
though  he  recognized  with  good  humour  his  own 
discomfiture,  he  rose,  and  they  turned  back  to  the 
town. 

"  Don't  think  that  I  am  not  grateful,"  said  Persis 
after  they  had  gone  a  little  way;  "  I  am — more  than 
you  can  guess,  perhaps — for  what  you  have  said — 
for  your  being  so  good  to  me.  I  was  very  unhappy 
when  I  came  to  you." 

"  I  saw  that  you  were  in  trouble,  Fraulein." 

"  No ;  not  trouble ;  not  trouble  exactly,"  said  Per- 
sis, turning  her  eyes  away.  "  It  was  unhappiness 
without  trouble,  if  you  know  what  that  is.  Now  I 
feel  that  you  have  helped  me." 

He  asked  no  question,  limping  along  beside  her, 
and,  in  a  changed  tone,  she  went  on  presently :  "  Do 
you  know,  if  Ludwig  is  not  to  frighten  me;  it's  still 
quite  possible  that  you  may!  Yes,  a  little;  because 
if  I  saw  much  of  you  I  should  feel  that  I  must  be 

247 


good,  and  I  should  n't  like  to  feel  that.  I  should  only 
like  to  feel  that  I  might  perhaps  some  day  try  good- 
ness after  I  had  tried  other  things." 

Sachs  smiled.  "You  make  me  think,  Fraulein,  of 
a  cascade,  leaping  very  wildly  among  rocks  and  taking 
daring  springs.  But  some  day  you  will  become  a 
river,  strong,  deep,  full  of  purpose." 

"A  river?"  Persis  objected.  "Oh  no;  I  would 
rather  stay  a  cascade.  I  don't  like  appointed  channels 
and  fixed  goals.  It  is  n't  everyone  who  has  a  change 
of  heart,  you  know.  Some  cascades  remain  cascades 
until  they  tumble  into  the  sea  and  some  hearts  remain 
unregenerate.  Now,  here  is  our  shop.  And  there 
are  coffee-sets;  three  coffee-sets.  Look  carefully  and 
say  which  one  you  like  best." 

They  had  reached  the  principal  street  of  Tannen- 
kreuz,  cheerful  and  variegated  with  the  booths  and 
shops  of  glass  merchants  and  lace  merchants  and 
sellers  of  the  semi-precious  stones  that  were  found  in 
the  mountains  near  by,  with  little  cafes  and  cake- 
shops,  their  chairs  and  tables  set  out  invitingly  on 
the  pavement  in  the  shade  of  the  trees.  Sachs,  look- 
ing, indeed,  a  little  bewildered  by  the  giddy  leaps  of 
the  cascade,  gazed  obediently  into  the  window,  and, 
after  some  moments  of  deliberation,  he  pointed  out  a 
very  deplorable  little  set,  brightly  painted  with  blue 
ribbons  and  pink  and  yellow  flowers. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Persis,  smiling ;  "  not  that.  The 
one  with  the  gilt  sprigs  is  far  prettier." 

"Is  it,  Fraulein?     You  know  best." 
248 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"I  think  that  about  coffee-sets  I  do.     The  gilt- 

LL. 
sprigged  one  is  the  one  for  us." 

They  went  into  the  shop,  and  Persis  ordered  the 
china  to  be  sent  to  the  address  which  Sachs,  with  a 
pleased  perturbation,  supplied  her,  writing  on  the  card 
enclosed  with  it:  "A  little  gift  from  a  friend  of 
Conrad's."  "And  now,"  she  said,  as  they  stepped 
into  the  street  again,  "  we  will  go  to  that  corner  shop 
where  the  tables  have  those  nice  red  and  white  checked 
cloths  and  sit  under  the  awnings  and  drink  coffee 
together.  It  is  the  best  shop  in  Tannenkreuz  for 
cinnamon  cakes." 

It  was  very  much  like  a  fairy  tale,  and,  after  their 
grave  interlude,  she  was  again  the  imperious  fairy. 
"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  when  they  were  seated  at  their 
little  table,  "  do  you  often  joke  and  make  funny  imi- 
tations, as  you  did  on  that  day  when  Ludwig  was 
ill?" 

"  I  have  always,  among  my  intimates,  been  a  clown," 
said  Sachs.  "  You  found  me  very  foolish,  I  think." 

"  No ;  I  don't  think  I  found  you  foolish.  I  was 
surprised  and  interested.  Could  you  do  something 
funny  for  me  now — the  dogs,  or  the  pigs  ?  " 

"  Here  in  the  street,  Fraulein  ?  I  should  be  too 
shy!" 

"Have  you  no  quieter  things,  then?" 

"  Oh  yes,  some  very  quiet  ones.  But  no,  I  am  too 
shy,  Fraulein."  He  was,  indeed,  laughing  with  some 
embarrassment. 

"  You  mean  that  I  am  not  an  intimate." 
249 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Not  that,  Fraulein.  Only  you  are  not  foolish.  I 
cannot  see  you  making  uproarious  jokes.  And  I 
should  feel  that  you  found  me  foolish  rather  than 
funny." 

"  Perhaps  I  should,"  said  Persis,  smiling  at  his 
acuteness.  "  I  think  I  have  not  much  sense  of  hu- 
mour— though  I  should  like  to  see  you  foolish;  for 
to-day,  you  know,  I  need  foolishness — anything,  to 
keep  me  from  reflecting.  But  tell  me  instead  about 
yourself.  Did  you  make  jokes  for  your  brothers  and 
sisters  when  they  were  little  ?  " 

He  said  that  he  did,  and  then,  in  answer  to  her 
questions,  told  her  about  these  brothers  and  sisters, 
the  professor,  the  pastor,  the  nursery-governess  in 
the  English  rectory,  and  about  their  reunions  at 
Christmas  and  the  Christmas-tree  that  their  mother 
always  made  for  them — yes,  even  now,  when  they 
were  all  grown  up.  After  this  he  asked  her,  smiling 
at  her  gently,  about  her  own  childhood,  and  she  told 
him  what  she  could  remember.  It  seemed  a  much 
more  distant  place  than  his.  She  had  only  had  a 
Christmas-tree  once,  when  she  was  very  little,  in 
America;  and  she  seemed  never  to  have  known  any 
children. 

Her  mother,  when  she  saw  her  that  evening,  told 
her  that  Wehlitz  had  appeared  on  the  river-path  soon 
after  her  departure,  and  that  on  being  told  that  she 
had  gone  to  see  Herr  Sachs  he  had  shown  every  sign 
of  displeasure  and  perturbation.  "  I  did  n't  know 
that  he  was  jealous  of  Herr  Sachs,  too,  Persis,"  said 

250 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Mrs.  Fennamy.  "  He 's  a  very  jealous  man.  I 
thought  it  would  make  him  feel  better  when  I  said 
you  'd  gone  to  talk  over  his  theory  about  things  com- 
ing back  again — but  it  seemed  to  make  him  feel 
worse." 

"  Well,  as  it  happens.  I  did  not  go  to  talk  over  his 
theory,"  said  Persis.  "  That  was  your  own  infer- 
ence, mamma ;  though  I  'm  not  sorry  that  Ludwig 
should  think  I  did.  He  is  a  very  jealous  man,  as  you 
say,  and  the  sooner  he  is  cured  of  his  thin-skinned- 
ness  the  better." 

"  I  think  it  did  cheer  him  up  a  little  when  I  told 
him  you  'd  broken  your  engagement  with  Graf  von 
Liidenstein,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  went  on,  "  and  I  asked 
him  to  stay  and  listen  to  him  play  with  Eleanora  and 
me  and  have  coffee  with  us,  and  he  did,  and  we  had 
quite  a  pleasant  afternoon.  But  I  could  see  that  he 
was  pretty  vague.  He  sat  staring  in  front  of  him 
most  of  the  time,  and  clenching  and  unclenching  his 
jaws  the  way  he  does.  I  could  see  the  muscles  in 
his  cheeks  working." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

PERSIS  was  prepared  to  see  the  muscle  working 
next  morning,  but  the  first  glance  at  Ludwig 
showed  her  that  he  was  determined  to  control,  if  not 
able  to  conceal,  his  sense  of  injury;  and  she  was  glad, 
indeed,  of  this,  for  she  had  waked  with  a  sense  of 
deep  fatigue,  almost  of  apathy;  and  though  she  felt 
a  new  toleration  of  Ludwig's  weaknesses,  a  new  ten- 
derness for  him,  she  had  no  energy  to  face  a  renewal 
of  foolish  struggles.  Nor,  though  the  nightmare 
seemed  to  have  slipped  from  her  during  sleep,  did  she 
feel  ready  to  follow  his  theories  this  morning. 

"  I  don't  want  a  lesson  to-day,"  she  said  after  they 
had  shaken  hands.  "  I  am  going  to  have  a  drive. 
We  can  talk  while  we  drive.  I  am  tired  of  this  stuffy 
little  room,  and  of  the  garden,  too." 

A  little  chaise,  drawn  by  two  stout  ponies,  driven 
after  the  fashion  in  Tannenkreuz,  by  a  boy  perched 
high  behind,  stood  before  the  door,  and  Ludwig,  after 
she  had  made  this  announcement,  turned  and  observed 
it  for  some  moments  before  replying.  "  You  had  or- 
dered it  ?  "  he  questioned  then.  "  You  made  so  sure 
that  I  would  come  ?  You  think  that  you  can  so  easily 
dispose  of  my  time  for  me?  " 

Whether  it  were  apathy  or  kindliness  she  did  not 
252 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

know,  but  she  felt  that  it  would  be  difficult  for  Lud- 
wig to  vex  her  to-day. 

"  I  made  so  sure  that  I  cared  to  go,"  she  said  smil- 
ing. "With  you,  I  hoped;  but  if  not  with  you,  then 
with  Mamma  or  Eleanora,  or  Herr  Sachs  or  Graf 
von  Ludenstein.  I  knew  that  among  them  all  I 
should  find  a  companion."  This  seizing  of  the  bull 
by  the  horns  left  Ludwig,  she  could  see,  much  at  a 
loss. 

"Ah!     Yes.     I  comprehend,"  he  murmured. 

"  But  I  did  not  order  the  boy,"  she  went  on.  "  I 
saw  him  driving  down  the  street  ten  minutes  ago  and 
stopped  him.  I  felt  that  I  must  drive,  up  to  the  pine- 
woods.  Well,  will  you  come  with  me,  Ludwig?" 

He  suspected  her  of  laughing  at  him  or  of  evading 
him  or  of  deceiving  him  in  some  way,  she  felt  sure, 
but,  sulkily,  after  a  pause,  he  replied :  "  Yes.  I  will 
come." 

"  I  am  so  glad.  We  can  talk  as  well  while  we 
drive,  and  even  better  than  we  can  here,  don't  you 
think?" 

"  Ah !  for  that  I  cannot  answer." 

She  handed  him  her  silk  cloak  to  help  her  on  with. 
He  was  not  skilful  in  the  performance  of  these  minor 
graces  and  she  felt  doubt  and  surmise  in  the  very 
gestures  with  which  he  tugged  the  easy  garment  over 
her  shoulders.  "  You  have  not  had  much  to  do  with 
women,  have  you,  Ludwig  ?  "  she  smiled,  disengaging 
the  lace  scarf  which  he  had  twisted  into  the  neck  of 
the  cloak  and  drawing  down  the  sleeves.  And  Weh- 

253 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

litz,  a  deepened  suspicion  of  being  taken  lightly  in 
his  voice,  replied:  "With  women?  No;  I  have 
spent  little  of  my  time  in  frivolities." 

They  went  outside.  The  boy  had  got  down  and 
stood  in  readiness. 

"  I  will  drive,"  said  Wehlitz.  "  It  is  for  the  man 
to  drive." 

He  was  affording  her  genuine  amusement,  though 
it  was  not  untouched  by  pain.  Why  would  he,  great, 
terrible  man,  be  so  small  ?  "  By  all  means,  if  you 
feel  it  necessary  to  your  manly  dignity,"  she  answered. 
The  languor  of  her  tone  did  not  conceal  its  irony. 

He  took  the  reins  without  replying,  the  boy  climbed 
to  his  high  seat  behind  them  and  they  went  clattering 
down  the  street  with  every  appearance  of  cheerful- 
ness. They  drove  for  some  time  in  silence,  Wehlitz 
very  erect,  handling  the  reins  with  an  inappropriate 
air  of  mastery;  and  it  was  only  after  they  had  left 
the  town  and  were  on  the  steep  road  leading  up  the 
mountain  that  he  said  suddenly,  in  a  voice  pitifully 
schooled :  "  It  was  a  pleasant  afternoon  you  passed 
with  Conrad  yesterday  ?  " 

"Very  pleasant,"  she  answered. 

"  Conrad,  I  hope,  did  not  misinterpret  a  freedom 
of  behaviour  to  which,  in  Europe,  we  are  not  accus- 
tomed ?  "  Wehlitz  continued. 

"  I  hope  not ;  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Persis  smiling. 
"  He  does  not  seem  to  me  a  person  to  misinterpret 
many  things." 

"  Ah.  No.  Conrad,  it  is  true,  has  intelligence. 
254 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

For  taste,  I  do  not  say.  That  is  a  faculty  of  finer  and 
longer  lineage.  Taste  might  deplore  certain  appear- 
ances. And  what  was  Conrad's  verdict,  may  I  ask, 
on  my  doctrine  of  the  Eternal  Return?" 

"  We  did  not  talk  of  that,"  said  Persis  dryly. 

He  started,  flushing  deeply,  and  turned  his  head  to 
look  at  her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  think  you  have  for- 
gotten. I  had  it  from  your  mother  that  it  was  with 
that  intention  that  you  went  to  seek  him." 

"  Yes.  I  know  that  you  had  it  from  her ;  so  she 
told  me,"  said  Persis.  "  She  had  imagined,  you  see, 
that  your  jealousy  was  personal  and  would  not  ex- 
tend to  intellectual  matters.  She  was  placating  you, 
she  thought.  As  it  happens  I  did  not  go  to  him  for 
that;  it  was  Mamma's  inference,  merely,  because  she 
and  I  had  been  talking  of  the  Eternal  Return — she, 
too,  believes  in  it; — is  not  that  interesting!  We  said 
almost  nothing  of  you,  Herr  Sachs  and  I,  as  far  as  I 
remember." 

Wehlitz  was  breathing  heavily. 

"  I  went  to  find  him  so  that  we  could  get  a  present 
for  his  mother,"  Persis  went  on,  after  a  pause,  "  which 
I  had  told  him  I  wanted  to  send  to  her.  We  found  a 
very  nice  coffee-set  and  I  sent  it  to  her — from  a  friend 
of  Conrad's — I  put  on  it.  I  sent  it  because  I  thought 
it  would  give  her  pleasure,  and  I  am  so  fond  of  him 
that  I  wanted  to  give  his  mother  pleasure.  What  is 
she  like — Herr  Sachs's  mother?  Have  you  seen 
her?" 

255 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Seen  her  ?  Certainly  I  have  seen  her.  She  is 
a  heavy  plebeian  like  her  son,"  said  Wehlitz  in  a 
muffled  voice,  dealing  the  ponies,  as  he  spoke,  a  sharp 
cut  across  the  flanks. 

The  colour  mounted  in  the  young  girl's  cheeks. 
She  was  shocked.  This  she  had  not  expected  from 
Ludwig;  no,  not  even  in  his  worst  moods.  "  That  is 
a  strange  way  in  which  to  speak  of  your  friend,"  she 
murmured. 

"Of  my  friend!  Certainly  of  my  friend!" 
Wehlitz  cried  loudly.  "  Why  not  of  him !  I  speak 
the  truth  of  all  men!  I  do  not  scorn  the  populace 
when  it  shows  capacity  to  rise.  Have  I  ever  denied 
that  he  has  capacity?  Yes;  my  friend;  though  a 
plebeian.  And  he  will  know  no  better  friend  than 
I." 

She  kept  silence,  her  eyes  fixed  before  her  on  the 
ranges  of  pine- woods  among  which  they  wound  their 
way.  She  had  heard  the  tears  in  his  tones  and  could 
interpret  his  shame  and  she  was  willing  to  help  him. 
"  We  did  not  talk  of  your  doctrines,"  she  said  after  a 
little  while,  "but  of  Herr  Sachs's.  You  are  familiar 
with  them,  I  suppose." 

"  The  Christian  dogmas  of  submission,  renuncia- 
tion, love  for  the  weak  and  piteous ;  yes,  I  am  familiar 
with  them,  these  old  dogmas  in  their  latest  modern 
dress.  You  know  my  opinion  of  Christianity;  the 
refuge  of  the  unfit — the  menace  to  the  strong.  Its 
success,  in  all  ages,  all  the  world  over,  is  easy  to  un- 
derstand. The  impotent,  filled  with  spite,  revenge 

256 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

themselves  upon  the  strong  who,  in  this  life,  hold  them 
in  subjection,  by  imagining  another  life  where  they 
will  have  eternal  domination.  Ha-ha! — a  noble 
creed ! "  He  lashed  again  at  the  ponies  and  they 
started  forward  at  a  brisk  trot. 

"  I  heard  nothing  of  such  a  creed  from  Herr  Sachs. 
In  what  you  say  of  religion  it  seems  to  me  sometimes 
that  you  think  you  overthrow  more  than  you  do." 

"Ah!  you  think  that  I  deceive  myself  as  to  the 
originality  of  my  doctrine!  "  The  muscle  in  his  cheek 
was  twitching.  He  lashed  again,  and  Persis  now 
leaned  and  took  the  whip  from  him,  he  too  much  ab- 
sorbed in  his  angry  broodings  to  notice,  for  the  mo- 
ment, her  action. 

"No;  I  don't  think  you  deceive  yourself  as  to  its 
originality,"  said  Persis,  lenient,  but  determined  to  be 
just ;  "  only  that  you  do  deceive  yourself  somewhat  as 
to  what  it  has  accomplished.  What  is  the  enhanced, 
the  higher,  the  self-transcending  life  you  believe  in 
but  the  life  the  saint  lives?" 

"  Saints  ?  Why  do  you  talk  of  saints  ? "  cried 
Wehlitz  angrily.  "  Give  me  my  whip !  " 

She  passed  it  to  the  other  hand  and  he  added,  after 
another  fiercely  brooding  pause :  "  the  saint  has  no 
strength.  He  is  an  idol-worshipper.  Take  his  idol 
from  him,  tell  him  that  his  heaven  is  empty,  and  he 
crumbles  into  dust." 

"  Conrad  does  not  crumble,  I  am  sure."  Persis 
softly  flicked  the  whip  in  the  air. 

"  Conrad  is  a  fool,"  said  Wehlitz,  with  intense  bit- 
257 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

terness.  "  He  pulls  a  thick  hood  over  his  head  and 
because  all  is  quiet  and  warm  and  dark  within,  he 
says :  '  Here  is  God ;  God  is  with  me ;  I  am  happy ; 
I  am  at  peace/  Ah!  it  would  not  frighten  Conrad 
to  know  that  his  heaven  was  empty? — he  would  not 
crumble?  Only  because  he  refuses  to  look  at  the 
truth.  He  talks  to  you  of  his  simpering,  long-bearded 
grandpapa  seated  on  his  golden  throne,  seated  on  his 
throne  in  Conrad's  little  soul — so  pure  and  white! — 
It  is  easy  to  be  confident  when  we  are  in  the  good 
graces  of  our  grandpapa! — Give  me  my  whip! — I  will 
not  be  treated  like  a  child ! " 

They  were  on  a  turn  of  the  hill-side,  on  one  hand 
the  rise  of  the  woods  with  their  climbing  regiments 
of  pines,  on  the  other  an  abrupt  fall  to  descending 
tree-tops;  a  light  railing  only  bordered  the  road. 
And  as  Wehlitz  now  leaned  suddenly  to  her,  catching 
at  her  arm,  the  whip  fell  clattering  across  the  ponies' 
flanks,  they  reared  violently  and  broke  into  a  wild 
gallop.  Persis  saw  their  great  danger.  She  had  time 
to  leap  forward,  catch  the  reins  aside,  and  pull  the 
ponies  back  upon  their  haunches,  while,  swaying 
heavily,  the  chaise  crashed  on  a  broken  wheel  and 
fell  over  in  the  road.  In  another  moment  they  must 
have  been  precipitated  down  upon  the  trees  below. 

Persis  was  the  first  to  find  her  feet.  She  had  fallen 
clear  of  the  chaise  and  felt  no  hurt.  Her  first  thought 
was  to  run  to  the  ponies'  heads.  One  had  fallen; 
the  other,  dragged  at  by  the  broken  harness,  stood 
trembling.  Wehlitz  drew  himself  on  hands  and 

258 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

knees  from  under  the  chaise  and  the  boy,  with  a  face 
of  tmresentful  astonishment,  sat  in  the  ditch. 

"  Are  you  hurt?  "  she  called  to  Wehlitz.  His  fore- 
head was  bleeding  but  otherwise  he  seemed  unscathed. 
He  did  not  answer  and  she  had,  unaided,  to  assist  the 
prostrate  pony  to  its  feet.  "  Poor  dears,  what  a 
shock  for  them,"  she  murmured,  stroking  their  pant- 
ing sides.  "  You  might  have  killed  them." 

"Might  have  killed  them?"  Wehlitz  cried  in  a 
shrill,  shaking  voice  in  which  tears  and  fury  mingled. 
"Speak  for  yourself!  It  is  your  work!  And  you 
might  have  killed  other  than  dumb  beasts ! " 

"  My  pity  is  certainly  with  the  dumb  beasts,"  said 
Persis,  "  and  you  were  responsible  for  the  accident. 
If  you  were  going  to  snatch  for  the  whip  like  an  un- 
mannerly school-boy,  you  should  at  least  have  looked 
to  see  where  you  were  driving." 

"Yes!  Yes!— that's  it!"  Wehlitz  cried,  jerking 
his  clenched  fists  up  and  down  at  his  sides  in  a  singular 
fashion  as  he  stood  before  her.  "  Give  to  yourself 
always  the  heroic  role  and  on  me  place  the  fools- 
cap!" 

"  You  seem,  perhaps,  more  in  need  of  a  bandage," 
said  Persis,  smiling  despite  herself.  "  Did  you  know 
that  you  were  hurt?  Don't  let  us  stand  here  quarrel- 
ling. Give  me  your  handkerchief  and  I  will  tie  up 
your  head." 

"  You  are  hurt  yourself ! "  he  cried,  pointing  to 
her  arm.  "  There  is  blood  on  your  sleeve !  No ! 
You  shall  not  touch  me!  It  is  my  place  to  succour 

259 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

you !  Your  desire  always  is  to  abase  and  to  humiliate 
me!" 

Tears  had  risen  to  his  eyes.  Her  anger  against 
him  melted  and  he  became  to  her  a  foolish  and  piteous 
little  boy  who  must  be  petted  and  humoured.  "  Be 
reasonable,  Ludwig,"  she  said  with  an  almost  maternal 
smile.  "  You  should  succour  me,  of  course,  if  I 
needed  it;  but  mine  is  a  mere  scratch;  yes;  look.  It 
is  nothing.  You  are  really  hurt.  Feel  the  blood  on 
your  cheek.  Are  you  convinced? — Eleanora  and 
Herr  Sachs  will  be  ready  to  cut  me  to  pieces  when 
they  see  what  I  have  done  to  their  hero.  Now  let 
me  bind  you  up." 

He  had  put  up  his  hand  and  looked  at  the  blood 
upon  it,  gloomily,  for  a  moment  and  then,  in  silence, 
he  drew  out  his  handkerchief  and  gave  it  to  her  and 
bowed  his  head  before  her,  muttering  only:  "You 
think  all  the  reason  is  on  your  side.  For  a  head  so 
young,  your  assurance  is  astonishing." 

"And  for  a  head  so  great  and  wise,"  said  Persis. 
pressing  it  lightly  between  her  hands  as  she  enwound 
it,  "  how  hot  and  hasty  a  one  this  is ! "  Her  voice 
was  playful,  even  mischievous,  but  the  affection  in 
it  was  a  balm.  The  ground  of  their  quarrel  faded 
from  his  mind,  and,  fretful  as  he  was  and  full  of 
wounded  vanity,  his  eyes  dwelt  on  her  for  a  moment, 
as  he  at  last  could  raise  them  to  hers,  with  a  sort  of 
gloomy  tenderness. 

"  You  will  have  to  rest  for  some  days  after  this, 
I  'm  afraid,"  she  said,  giving  him  her  arm  and  opening 

260 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

her  parasol  over  him.  They  left  the  overturned 
chaise  behind,  and  the  boy,  leading  the  ponies,  fol- 
lowed them.  Far  below,  like  a  toy  town,  Tannen- 
kreuz  lay  in  the  sunlight. 

"  Some  days,  indeed,"  said  Wehlitz.  "  And  it  is 
serious,  very  serious,  the  interruption  to  my  work. 
It  is  not  as  amusing  as  you  may  imagine  to  lie  in  a 
darkened  room  with  a  bandage  on  one's  head." 

"  It  must  be  anything  but  amusing.  You  will  let 
me  come  and  see  you,  often,  won't  you — and  we  will 
make  coffee  for  you  every  day." 

"  I  shall  not  be  allowed  to  drink  coffee.  But,  yes, 
I  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  spare  me  a  little  of 
your  time." 

It  was  wiser  to  be  silent.  They  went  on  without 
speaking  for  a  little  way.  Suddenly  Wehlitz  stopped 
short.  Persis's  eyes,  following  his,  saw  them  fixed 
on  a  figure  that  was  approaching  them  from  below 
and  in  a  moment  she  had  recognized  it  as  Graf  von 
Liidenstein's. 

"  I  will  not  meet  him !  No !  I  will  not  meet  him 
so ! "  Wehlitz  exclaimed,  gazing  wildly  down  at  the 
tree-tops  and  up  at  the  high  escarpment  of  the  bank. 
Its  sandy  soil  was  piled  too  steeply  for  an  ascent  to 
the  woods  to  be  possible,  and  he  turned  as  though 
meditating  a  flight  up  the  road. 

Persis  caught  him  by  the  sleeve.  "  But  Ludwig,'* 
she  said.  "What  is  there  to  be  ashamed  of?  Why 
not  meet  him?  It  was  only  an  accident.  Listen  to 
me."  He  faced  her  again,  angry,  protesting,  be- 

261 


TIMF  1 1MIT  IS  14  DAY! 


wildered.    Liidenstein,  for  a  moment,  was  hidden  by 
a  turning. 

"  It  was  only  an  accident,"  Persis  repeated.  "  We 
were  absorbed  in  talk  and  the  ponies  ran  away.  What 
is  there  to  be  ashamed  of?  You  look  a  hero  with 
your  bandaged  head." 

"A  hero!  Yes!  He  will  find  me  one  indeed!  I 
know  him!  I  know  his  sneering  smile!  You  do  not 
know  Liidenstein !  He  thinks  himself  above  all  weak- 
nesses." 

"  And  since  he  will  not  see  you  trying  to  escape 
him,  there  are  no  weaknesses  for  him  to  discover." 
Liidenstein  had  appeared  round  the  bend  in  the  road 
and  she  waved  her  hand  to  him. 

He  hurried  forward  to  meet  them.  "What  has 
happened!  What  is  it?"  he  exclaimed  with  a 
look  of  consternation.  "You  are  wounded,  Lud- 
wig!" 

"  Are  we  not  a  romantic  pair,"  said  Persis,  answer- 
ing for  Ludwig  who  walked  on  in  silence,  raising  his 
hand  to  his  bandaged  head.  "  Who  could  have  sus- 
pected those  fat  ponies  of  such  an  escapade?  Yes, 
they  ran  away  with  us ;  we  were  absorbed  in  talk,  and 
they  nearly  threw  us  over  the  road-side.  We  saved 
ourselves  only  just  in  time.  The  chaise  overturned 
with  us  and  Ludwig's  head  is  badly  cut." 

"  But  my  friend !  I  am  distressed  beyond  words," 
Liidenstein  spoke  in  tones  of  sincere  solicitude. 
"  This  is  not  well  for  you.  Yours  is  not  a  head  we 
can  risk  in  roadside  tumbles." 

262 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Persis  was  surprised  and  ironically  amused  to  notice 
that  to  herself  he  gave  no  attention. 

Ludwig  meanwhile  continued  to  walk  forward  in 
silence.  But,  suddenly,  turning  very  pale,  he  stopped. 
"  I  am  ill,"  he  said.  "  I  am  very  ill."  He  sat  down 
on  a  rock  beside  the  road. 

Ludenstein  knelt  beside  him.  "Ludwig,  you  shall 
rest  here.  Fraulein  Fennamy  will  stay  beside  you 
and  I  will  go  quickly  back  and  send  a  vehicle  for  you. 
Lean  on  her  arm." 

It  was  almost  tenderness,  and  that  Ludwig  felt  it 
was  evidenced  by  his  fretful,  yet  grateful  rejoinder. 
"  No;  no,  you  will  stay  with  me,  Ernst.  If  I  should 
lose  consciousness  it  is  well  that  a  man  should  be  with 
me.  It  is  my  head.  It  is  the  wound  in  my  head. 
Persis  will  go" ;  he  closed  his  eyes  and  his  head  sunk 
on  Liidenstein's  shoulder. 

Persis  turned  away  without  speaking.  She 
gathered  up  her  skirts  and  ran  down  the  road  to- 
wards Tannenkreuz. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IT  was  Liidenstein  who  called  next  morning,  and 
Persis  watched  him  coming  down  the  street,  his 
heavy,  yet  lightly,  almost  jauntily  carried  body,  his 
air  of  cheerful  well-being,  with  a  glance  of  irony. 
The  irony  included  Ludwig,  for  she  could  guess  why 
Sachs  had  not  been  sent.  And  Lud wig's  folly  was 
a  satisfaction.  It  justified  her.  In  what,  she  could 
not  have  said. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  been  alone  with 
Liidenstein  since  their  conversation  in  the  orchard. 
He  had  come,  once  or  twice.  Persis,  with  a  suavity 
delightful  to  herself,  had  secured  her  mother's  pres- 
ence for  a  pleasant  afternoon  of  music.  To  keep 
her  powerful  admirer  thus  in  harness  made  her  feel 
like  an  Omphale,  watching  a  helpless  Hercules  in  the 
toils.  Now,  as  he  entered,  she  turned  to  meet  him 
with  a  smile. 

"  So  you  are  sent  with  news  of  our  invalid,"  she 
said.  "  The  news  is  good  I  trust,  and  the  injury  to 
his  head  not  as  serious  as  you  seemed  to  fear." 

Liidenstein,  too,  was  smiling.  "  Not  quite  as  seri- 
ous. He  will  soon  be  about  again.  And  here  is  a 
note  he  sends  you." 

She  opened  it.  It  was  curt.  Would  she  please 
264 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

come  to  him  that  afternoon.  "  Will  you  tell  him  I 
will,"  she  said,  lifting  her  eyes  to  Liidenstein,  who, 
still  smiling,  stood  considering  her.  "  It  needs  no 
more  than  a  verbal  answer." 

"  You  are  displeased  with  our  poor  Ludwig  this 
morning  ?  " 

"  No,  not  at  all  displeased,  amused,  perhaps." 

"And  I,  too,  am  amused,"  Liidenstein  remarked, 
after  a  moment.  "  Yet,  if  you  allude  to  jealousy,  let 
me  say  that  I  do  not  know  that  I  find  it  so  misplaced. 
No,"  as  she  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment ;  "  I  sympa- 
thise with  Ludwig.  Spiritual  friendships  are  devas- 
tating to  other  friendships.  Poor  Ludwig!  He  is 
not  fortunate  in  friendship  or  in  love." 

"He  is  certainly  fortunate  in  yours,"  said  Persis, 
after  a  moment,  and  with  a  dryness  that  did  not  con- 
ceal indignation. 

"  Well,  yes,"  Ludenstein  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  I 
am  with  you.  Ludwig,  I  consider,  has  no  better 
friend  than  myself." 

"  He  must  indeed,  yesterday,  have  thought  you  the 
most  devoted  of  friends." 

"  Indeed,  yes.     And  why  not  ?  " 

And  as  she  stood,  looking  out  into  the  street  and 
making  no  reply,  he  went  on :  "  And  you  are,  I  see, 
displeased  with  me  because  I  so  carefully  concealed 
from  Ludwig  yesterday  my  interest  in  you." 

"  I  certainly  do  not  see  how  you  contrive  to  rec- 
oncile your  fondness  for  him  with  your  feeling  for 
me."  ' 

265 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Ludenstein  now  seated  himself  at  the  piano  and 
ran  his  fingers  over  the  keys.  She  stood  beside  him, 
though  still  not  looking  at  him,  and  it  was  strange,  as 
so  often  before,  to  know  that,  though  she  found  him 
almost  an  evil  man,  she  could  not  dislike  him. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Ludenstein  presently,  while  he 
continued  softly  to  play  chords  and  arpeggios.  "  I 
deceive  my  friend,  if  that  is  what  you  deprecate. 
But  that  is  precisely  my  method  of  reconciliation. 
My  conception  of  friendship  is  to  make  my  friend 
happy,  if  that  is  compatible  with  my  own  happiness. 
To  reconcile  my  love  for  you,  and  my  friendship  with 
Ludwig,  is  not  that  pure  gain,  to  one  whose  standard 
is  that  of  expediency  only?" 

"And  if  you  could  not  reconcile  them?"  Persis 
asked  ironically.  "  If  you  had  to  choose  between 
us?" 

He  narrowed  his  eyes.  "You  mean  between  los- 
ing his  friendship  and  winning  your  love?  Ah,  then, 
unflinchingly,  I  should  behave  towards  Ludwig  as  he 
in  his  writings  counsels  the  strong  to  behave  towards 
the  weak;  I  should  ride  him  down.  I  agree  with 
Ludwig,  altogether,  that  life  is  a  craving,  conquering 
force  and  that  the  good  of  the  few  cannot  be  recon- 
ciled with  the  good  of  the  many.  And  not  only  do  I 
admire  Ludwig's  precepts;  I  follow  them — which  is 
more  than  he  is  able  to  do.  He  is  one  of  the  craving 
but  not  of  the  conquering  type,  our  Ludwig." 

She  had  turned  her  eyes  on  his  now,  with  the  dim 
ironic  smile  that  she  felt  as  a  shield  between  them. 

266 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Ludwig  has  a  great  many  unconscious  followers,  as 
you  must  know.  You  speak  as  though  you  were  in 
some  way  singular  in  your  practices;  they  are  those 
of  most  people,  I  imagine." 

"  Certainly,  with  the  difference  which  makes  me 
singular,  that  they  are  unconscious  and  I  conscious  of 
what  I  do." 

She  left  the  abstract  theme.  "  So  that  your  friend- 
ship for  Ludwig  depends  upon  your  hopelessness  in 
regard  to  me.  It  is  a  strange  idea  of  friendship." 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  you  who  seem  to  insist  on  the  alter- 
native," Liidenstein  smiled  drowsily  at  her  while  he 
pressed  deep,  deliberate,  yet  urgent  chords.  "  I  might 
keep  my  friend  and  win  you.  You  would  remain 
his  Egeria,  and  a  wiser,  more  tolerant,  more  powerful 
one  for  the  accepted  ambiguity  of  your  position. 
Nothing  gives  more  strength  than  to  choose  and  main- 
tain ambiguity.  I,  too,  can  deal  in  aphorisms,  you 
see,  Fraulein  Persis.  I  shock  you?  You  find  such 
ambiguity  shocking?" 

She  had  again  turned  her  eyes  away  and  was  gaz- 
ing out  into  the  street  with  a  haughty,  abstracted  gaze. 
"  No ;  oh,  no ;  not  shocking.  Tasteless.  Offen- 
sive." 

Liidenstein,  ceasing  to  play,  looked  up  at  her  in  si- 
lence for  a  moment.  "  I  would  ride  him  down,  if  you 
preferred  that." 

She  continued  to  gaze  into  the  street.  "There  is 
no  question  of  my  preference.  Your  alternatives  do 
not  exist  for  me." 

267 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Still,  though  his  hands  were  on  the  keys,  he  did 
not  play  and  the  cessation  of  the  urgent  undertone 
was  at  once  a  relief  and  an  anxiety;  she  felt  less 
menaced  but  more  exposed,  without  that  low  murmur 
of  encompassing  sound.  "  You  are  very  indignant 
with  me,"  he  said,  "because  I  tell  you  that  a  woman 
may  love  one  man  and  be  none  the  less  a  true  friend 
to  another.  Yet  you  are  very  determined  on  main- 
taining your  independence  with  Ludwig.  You  insist, 
for  instance,  unless  I  misread  certain  signs,  on  your 
right  to  your  friendship  with  little  Sachs.  What  I 
propose  is  that  you  should  carry  that  same  independ- 
ence a  little  further;  if  it  is  to  carry  it  further." 

Actually,  he  seemed  to  be  arguing  with  her,  as 
though  she  had  initiated  such  argument.  She  was  be- 
wildered, and,  as,  for  the  moment,  she  found  no  re- 
ply, he  went  on.  "  I  know  what  you  will  say.  Your 
bond  with  Ludwig  does  not  prevent  other  friendships, 
but  it  prevents  a  love-affair,  a  concealed  love-affair. 
I  do  not  deal  in  these  conventions.  Since  I  am  not 
to  ride  him  down,  since  I  need  not  choose  that  alter- 
native,— I  confess  it  would  be  painful, — it  is  Lud- 
wig's  happiness  and  unhappiness  that  I  may  think  of, 
and  I  assert  that  my  regard  for  his  welfare  is  quite 
as  tender  as  yours.  You  torture  him,  willingly,  with 
this  spiritual  comradeship  with  little  Sachs — ah,  Frau- 
lein,  I  could  read  the  signs  the  other  day,  when  you 
left  me  in  the  lurch  to  seek  out  our  jester — and  you 
would  abandon  him  without  hesitation  if  a  satisfactory 
marriage  offered  itself  to  you.  Come  now,  is  it  not 

268 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

true  that  it  is  convention,  merely,  that  rules  your  feel- 
ing in  this  matter  ?  " 

She  stood  in  the  dim  little  room  looking  out  into 
the  street  and  it  seemed  to  her,  enmeshed,  perplexed, 
almost  appalled,  that  her  inability  to  deny  what  he 
said  was  a  bond  between  them.  "  I  respect  marriage," 
she  said.  "  I  despise  illicit  and  concealed  love- 
affairs." 

He  was  looking  up  at  her  and  softly  laughing. 
"  Convention,  mere  convention,"  he  said. 

"  Moreover,"  Persis  found,  with  a  grasp  as  if  at 
some  floating  spar,  "  you  seem  to  forget  that  since 
I  do  not  love  you  the  question  does  not  arise." 

"  No ;  I  do  not  forget  it,"  said  Liidenstein.  "  I 
remember  it,  I  assure  you,  quite  well.  I  only  ask 
you  to  own  that,  if  you  did  love  me,  it  ought  not, 
with  a  proud,  strong  woman  like  you,  to  arise." 

She  wished,  passionately,  to  prove  her  strength,  to 
himself  and  to  herself.  "  If  I  loved  you,"  and  she 
brought  her  eyes  now  firmly  to  his  face,  "  it  could  not 
arise,  for  such  a  love-affair  would  not  be  concealed." 

"  Ah,"  looking  up  at  her  he  struck  now  a  deep, 
triumphant  chord;  "if  you  loved  me,  we  should  ride 
Ludwig  down,  relentlessly.  Good.  It  is  not  kind. 
It  is  not  pitying;  but  it  is  Lud wig's  own  doctrine.  I 
should  ask  nothing  better  of  you." 

She  turned  away.  "  I  must  study  now.  This  is 
my  time  for  study.  We  have  talked  enough  of  these 
absurdities."  Her  voice  was  trembling;  did  he  hear 
it? 

269 


He  rose,  acquiescent,  courteous.  He  took  his  hat; 
he  stood  before  her.  "  But  we  shall  have  our  music 
one  day  soon  again  ?  " 

"Yes;  oh,  yes." 

"  Perhaps  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  to-morrow/' 

"  The  next  day,  then." 

"  Perhaps.     I  will  see  what  time  I  have." 

She  longed  for  him  to  go.  She  was  filled  with  a 
horror  of  what  she  might  have  seemed  to  have  avowed 
to  him.  She  must  be  alone  and,  fiercely,  closely,  re- 
hearse the  conversation  and  see  what  she  had  done. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

"TTERR  SACHS!  Herr  Sachs!"  said  Persis. 
jLJ.  She  had  been  waiting  for  him  to  pass,  for  a 
very  long  time  it  seemed  to  her.  It  was  at  this  hour 
that  he  returned  from  Ludwig's  along  the  river  path. 
He  saw  her  face  looking  at  him,  not  smiling,  from 
behind  the  bars.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said. 

But  Sachs,  evidently,  did  not  want  to  stop.  Uncer- 
tainty and  anxiety  were  in  his  gaze  and  he  stood  in 
the  path  looking  at  her  while  she  swung  the  grille 
back  on  its  hinges.  "  Come  in,"  she  said.  "  Or  shall 
I  come  out  to  you?  for  talk  to  you  I  will.  Yes.  I 
have  been  waiting  for  you.  You  are  not  afraid  of 
me?"  A  provocative  note  was  in  her  voice. 

"  No,  Fraulein,"  said  Sachs,  looking  away  from  her 
with  a  rueful  smile.  "  But  perhaps  I  ought  to  be. 
I  do  not  know  that  I  ought  to  stop." 

"  You  mean  that  it  will  throw  Ludwig  into  a  fever 
if  he  hears  of  it.  He  recovers  from  such  fevers. 
Already,  I  am  sure  you  have  seen  it,  he  is  more  rea- 
sonable, more  amenable.  These  days  of  his  convales- 
cence have  been  quite  pleasant  and  peaceful;  don't  you 
think  so?" 

"  I  am  sometimes  afraid  that  you  amuse  yourself 
with  tormenting  Ludwig,  Fraulein.  Yes,  they  have 

271 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

been  peaceful  days;  perhaps  because  there  has  been 
so  little  in  them." 

"  But  that  is  not  true,  to  say  that  I  torment  him," 
said  Persis,  and  her  young  face  darkened  almost  to  a 
look  of  sternness.  "  You  all,  yes,  all  of  you,  Eleanora, 
Graf  von  Liidenstein,  take  sides  with  Ludwig,  al- 
ways, against  me.  What  have  I  done  but  maintain 
my  independence?  What  did  I  do  the  other  day,  on 
that  drive,  but  ignore  his  ill-temper  in  regard  to  you 
until  he  began  to  beat  the  ponies  so  unmercifully  that 
I  had  to  take  the  whip  from  him.  Yes — that  was  the 
truth  of  that  story,  though,  to  protect  Ludwig,  I  have 
told  another  one." 

He  had  entered  now  and  was  following  her  to  an 
old  bench  set  against  the  wall  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden,  and  he  sighed  deeply  and  involuntarily  as  he 
sank  down  upon  it. 

"  If  only  Ludwig  would  conquer  this  puerile 
jealousy,"  Persis  went  on  with  the  air  of  excitement 
apparent  in  her  to-day.  "If  only  he  could  learn  to  be 
more  tolerant  of  a  word  of  opposition,  we  might  be 
very  happy." 

Sachs  sat  looking  in  front  of  him.  "  You  are  hard, 
Fraulein,"  he  said  at  last.  "  You  do  not  seem  to  un- 
derstand Ludwig  as  I  hoped  you  were  to  understand 
him.  You  do  not  understand  that  a  deep  fear  may 
show  itself  in  puerile  actions  and  yet  be  none  the 
less  grave  and  real.  How  can  he  not  resent  our  meet- 
ings, yours  and  mine,  when  he  must  feel  that  you  seek 
in  me  to  stay  yourself  against  his  doctrines?" 

272 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Persis,  at  this,  was  for  a  moment  silent.  "  But  it 
is  not  true.  I  do  not  talk  of  Ludwig's  doctrines  to 
you,"  she  said  presently.  "  Never  since  that  first 
day.  I  fight  against  them  alone." 

"  Not  quite  alone,  Fraulein,"  said  Sachs,  also  after 
a  little  pause,  "  for  though  we  do  not  speak  of  them 
we  know  that  they  are  there.  If  they  frighten  you,  it 
is  well  that  you  should  have  a  refuge;  but  I  ask  yon 
to  see  that  to  Ludwig  such  a  refuge  must  seem  a 
menace." 

At  this  Persis  sat  silent  for  some  moments.  Dur- 
ing these  last  days  she  had  struggled  with  closer  and 
more  tangible  fears.  Ludwig's  nightmare  theory 
seemed  their  background.  It  was  as  if  she  saw  her- 
self lured  by  the  hypnotic  whisper  of  the  future,  yet 
pressed  forward,  too,  by  the  past,  by  the  dark,  ac- 
cumulated cloud  of  fate  upon  whose  wheel  she  was  to 
turn  for  ever.  Already,  down  the  endless  reaches  of 
that  backward  time,  she  had  listened  to  Graf  von 
Liidenstein;  again  and  again  she  had  listened.  And 
if  she  was  to  draw  still  nearer  to  the  sinister  tree  of 
life,  would  it  not  be  because  already  she  had  done  so, 
and  was  to  do  so,  for  all  the  past  and  all  the  future? 
She  saw  herself  menaced  by  an  obsession.  It  was  a 
succour  to  think  that  she  was  ill;  ill,  not  incredibly 
tempted.  And  now,  turning  at  last  her  eyes  on  the 
little  cripple,  she  said,  wondering  at  the  great  gulfs 
that  parted  their  minds,  even  at  this  moment  when 
they  seemed  so  near :  "  Did  you  guess  that  Lud- 
wig's theory  of  the  Eternal  Return  frightened  me 

273 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

more   than   all   the   rest.     You   know   that   theory? 
Has  it  never  frightened  you?  " 

"  No ;  it  has  not  frightened  me,  Fraulein,"  he  an- 
swered, looking  at  her  very  thoughtfully.  "  And  you, 
too,  will  not  long  have  allowed  such  a  nightmare  to 
trouble  you." 

"  No,  no,  I  do  not  think  it  troubles  me  now ;  not 
so  much.  It  is  a  nightmare,  then  ?  You  are  sure  that 
it  is  a  nightmare  ?  " 

"  It  does  not  seem  to  me  even  so  real  as  a  night- 
mare, Fraulein,  that  mechanical  universe.  But  if  I 
say  this  to  you  I  must  ask  you  also  to  see  that  Lud- 
wig's  own  deeper  thought  dismisses  it.  Has  not  Lud- 
wig  himself  placed  life  above  law?  And  how  much 
more  must  he  place  it  above  mindless  machinery." 

A  strange  sense  of  lightness  and  release  passed 
over  Persis  while  he  spoke.  Was  not  what  he  said 
self-evident?  And  how  had  she  not  seen  it  for  her- 
self? The  cloud  that  had  seemed  so  black  was  yet 
so  thin,  so  impalpable,  that  at  a  mere  breath  it  was 
dissolved.  And  now  it  was  gone,  and  she  could  lift 
her  head  and  look  about  her.  This  was  not  the  time 
to  ask  herself  where  she  was.  Nor  could  she  go  on 
to  ask  Herr  Sachs  if  he  believed  in  sin  and  to  ask  him 
if  she  were  a  tempted  woman.  "  It  is  always  with 
Ludwig  that  you  defend  Ludwig,"  she  said. 

"  Fortunately,  it  is  easy  to  do  so,  Fraulein." 

"If  his  deeper  thought  dismisses  this  theory,  why 
should  he  not  see  it? — why  should  he  cling  so  persist- 
ently to  a  nightmare  ?  " 

274 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"You  do  not  yet  understand  Ludwig,  Fraulein. 
It  is  with  him  always  the  desire  to  surmount  himself 
that  explains  his  theories.  That  is  the  peril  of  his 
isolation,  and  of  his  courage.  The  most  horrible 
thing  his  thought  can  show  him,  that  he  must  believe 
in,  that  he  must  test  himself  upon.  Unless  he  can 
brace  his  nature  to  accept  and  dominate  it,  he  dis- 
trusts himself.  It  is  an  act  of  faith.  To  the  spectre 
theory  he  says :  '  Even  so,  I  live,  I  will.'  And  see 
now,"  Sachs  as  he  spoke  turned  on  the  bench  so  that 
he  faced  her,  "  see  now,  Fraulein ; — this  heroic  act ; — 
and  then  to  have  those  he  loves  smile  and  say :  '  Your 
courage  is  misplaced.  This  horror  that  you  face  is  an 
illusion.  Wave  it  away.' — Could  he  accept  their  ver- 
dict and  not  feel  himself  disintegrate?" 

She  had  listened  motionless,  her  eyes  on  the  young 
man.  "  It  is  his  pride,"  she  said.  "  He  wants  hor- 
ror." 

"  That  is  true,  Fraulein,"  said  Sachs.  "  But  it  is 
not  a  petty  pride.  It  is  for  the  sake  of  strength  that 
he  wants  it,  for  the  sake  of  self-conquest."  And 
after  a  moment — and  now  it  was  as  if,  indeed,  he 
read  her  thoughts — "  It  is  because  of  his  pride  that 
Ludwig  fears  you." 

"  Fears  me  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"You  are  all  the  things,  Fraulein,  that  Ludwig 
longs  to  be." 

"What  things?" 

He  leaned  his  chin  on  the  hands  that  held  his  crutch 
and,  looking  down  at  the  deep  grass  that  rose  about 

275 


their  feet,  he  said :  "  You  are  hard,  Fraulein,  very 
hard,  as  you  have  said,  and  full  of  health  and  strength, 
like  a  young  goddess,  and  the  desire  of  life.  And 
Ludwig  is  frail  and  gentle  and  shaken  by  pity,  and 
at  the  bottom  of  his  soul  lies  the  renunciation  of  life, 
yes,  the  indifference  to  life  which  he  so  dreads. 
And  the  contrast  is  deeper  still ;  for  Ludwig's  is  a  re- 
ligious soul  and  yours  a  pagan.  Yes,  Ludwig  would 
sacrifice  himself  and  all  he  is  and  has  to  what  he  sees 
to  be  the  highest;  he  makes  his  will  one  with  it;  he 
acclaims  it  as  his  own  will.  Is  it  not  so  with  the  man 
who  has  found  the  divine?  But  you,  Fraulein,  what 
you  seek  is  your  own  happiness." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  Ludwig  is  good  and  I  am 
wicked?"  Persis  asked. 

He  raised  his  head  at  this  to  consider  her,  too  in- 
tent to  give  a  smile  to  her  ingenuous  query. 

"Ludwig  is  good,  Fraulein.  But  you  are  not 
wicked.  You  are  only  young.  Do  you  guess  why  I 
say  all  this  to  you — why  I  consent  to  sit  here  with 
you  and  talk  of  my  friend?  " 

"  Yes,  I  can  guess.  You  feel  that  you  may  bring 
us  together  if  you  can  make  us  understand  one  an- 
other. And  you  want  to  bring  us  together." 

"  You  read  me,  Fraulein.  I  ask  you  to  understand 
him  better;  but  I  also  ask  you  to  understand  yourself, 
to  see  clearly  where  you  stand.  I  ask  you  to  be  old — 
for  yourself  and  for  Ludwig — since  he,  too,  is  in  this 
so  young." 

The  strange  vicarious  insistence  of  his  gaze  was 
276 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

upon  her,  a  force — and  how  far  away  seemed  now  the 
memory  of  the  gaze  that  was  a  weight  pressing  her 
down — a  force  that  demanded  painful  effort  from 
her.  She  murmured,  "  To  see  clearly  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Sachs.  "What  is  it  that  you  have 
felt  for  Ludwig?  Not  love.  Not  even  tenderness — 
or  hardly  that.  It  has  been  pride  in  his  love,  is  it 
not  so,  Fraulein?  and  gladness  because  of  your  power 
over  this  great,  child-like  man.  I  do  not  blame  you. 
You  had  no  more  to  give — and  he  had  not  the  power 
to  win  more  from  you.  It  is  he,  it  is  Ludwig,  who 
has  deceived  both  you  and  himself.  For  of  what 
value  can  the  discipleship  of  a  child  of  nineteen  be  to 
Ludwig  ?  Why  should  he  expect  in  a  month's  time  to 
mould  an  untrained  mind  to  agreement?  No,  no, 
each  of  you,  unconsciously,  has  deceived  the  other; 
it  is  not  his  doctrine  that  you  care  for,  but  his  homage, 
and  he  is  not  the  dispassionate  master  and  philosopher, 
but  your  lover.  And  so  it  is  that  you  wrangle  to- 
gether and  find  no  happiness.  You  and  Ludwig  have 
nothing  to  do  with  each  other — nothing — nothing — 
unless  you  can  be  man  and  wife." 

She  felt  herself  groping  among  strange  shapes, 
strange,  yet,  in  the  underworld  of  her  mind,  the  mute, 
sub-conscious  region  where  the  truth  is  known  but  not 
spoken,  familiar.  A  chill  fell  upon  her,  a  sense,  after 
her  sudden  hope,  of  friendlessness  and  bereavement. 
Helplessly,  she  said,  "  But  we  have  been  quite  quiet 
and  happy  for  these  last  few  days,  Ludwig  and  I; 
we  have  had  no  wrangles.  And  I  do  care  for  his  doc- 

277 


THE  ENCOUNTER' 

trines.  I  do  want  to  learn.  You  are  unfair  to  me. 
And  though  you  find  me  so  young,  Ludwig  needs 
me  and  I  am  of  help  to  him." 

"  That  is  illusion,  Fraulein,"  said  Sachs.  "  You 
have  a  brilliant  mind,  I  do  not  deny  it,  and  you  see 
the  flaws  and  contradictions  of  his  thought.  Others, 
too,  see  them.  To  them  he  will  not  listen,  how  much 
less  to  you,  his  pupil.  Ludwig  does  not  argue  with 
you;  you  do  not  seek  the  truth  together.  Do  you 
not  see,  do  you  not  know,  that  when  he  seems  to 
teach  you  it  is  as  if  he  were  singing  to  you?  They 
are  nuptial  plumage,  Fraulein,  that  is  all,"  Sachs 
faintly  smiled,  "  these  intellectual  demonstrations." 

Her  tears  had  risen.  "  What  am  I  to  do,  then,  if 
it  has  all  been  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  But  it  is  not  all  a  mistake,  Fraulein.  One  thing 
is  sure,  and  that  is  that  Ludwig  loves  you." 

"  He  has  never  told  me  so !  " 

"But  you  know  it,"  said  Sachs,  looking  at  her 
gravely.  She  had  noticed  before  that  symptoms  of 
emotion  left  him  singularly  unmoved,  unless  that 
greater  intentness  of  gaze  was  the  sign  of  feeling. 
"  You  know  the  meaning  of  the  song  he  sings  though 
he  puts  to  it  words  of  another  meaning." 

"  I  do  not  feel  its  meaning,  then ;  he  does  not  make 
me  feel  it.  If  he  does  not  make  me  feel  it,  what  more 
can  I  do  for  him  than  I  do  now  ?  "  * 

"  There  are  only  two  things  that  you  can  do  for 
Ludwig,  Fraulein.  You  can  marry  him,  or  send  him 
away." 

278 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"Go  to  him  and  tell  him  that  I  will  marry  him 
when  he  has  never  told  me  that  he  loves  me?  "  Persis 
cried,  flushing  brightly  while  the  tears  now  fell. 

"  Not  quite  that,  Fraulein.  You  could  soon  make 
Ludwig  see  that  there  was  hope  for  him  if  you  felt 
love  for  him." 

"  And  marry  him,  then,  to  be  his  footstool,  his 
pillow!  Yes,  that  is  all  you  mean!  I  am  not  fit  to 
be  his  comrade,  not  fit  to  be  his  mental  equal,  and 
helper — I  am  only  fit  to  be  his  wife!  Oh,  yes,  Herr 
Sachs!  that  is  your  meaning.  But  those  are  German 
ideas.  Not  mine !  Not  ours !  "  She  had  started  to 
her  feet  as  she  spoke,  laughing  angrily  and  brokenly 
through  her  tears,  and  a  dim  smile  again  flickered  on 
Sachs's  face  as  he  rose  and  met  her  indignant  eyes. 

"  A  footstool  is  for  stupid  or  brutal  men,  Fraulein ; 
but  a  pillow — yes.  It  is  a  pillow  that  Ludwig  needs, 
rest  and  quiet  and  kind  arms  about  his  head.  And 
see,  Fraulein,"  he  looked  at  her  now  very  gravely, 
"  only  so  could  you  come  to  be  Ludwig's  comrade 
and  helper.  Only  through  happiness  can  he  be  won 
away  from  the  spectres.  When  you  have  made  him 
happy — then,  ah  then,  I  should  have  great  hope  of 
finding  a  change  in  Ludwig's  dark  theories." 

As  he  spoke  they  heard  a  step  approaching  them 
over  the  grass  and  seeing  the  change  on  Sachs's  face 
Persis  knew  that  it  was  Liidenstein's.  In  another 
moment  he  had  joined  them  and  had  doffed  his  hat 
before  her,  his  expression  altering  to  one  of  solicitous 
inquiry  as  he  noticed  her  tears.  "  Do  I  interrupt  ?  " 

279 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

he  said.  "  I  caught  sight  of  the  white  glimmer  of 
your  dress  among  the  trees  and  thought  you  were 
alone.  I  had  hoped  that  to-day  we  might  have  a 
little  music." 

Persis  dried  her  eyes.  A  mirthful,  mocking  mood 
took  possession  of  her.  "  Let  us  have  some  music," 
she  said.  "  Come,  Herr  Sachs ;  Graf  von  Liidenstein 
will  play  us  a  Gigue  by  Bach,  which  I  want  you  to 
hear  with  me.  Do  you  know  it?  Partita  in  B  flat. 
It  sounds  like  the  river  as  we  hear  it  now  from  here ; 
golden  and  flowing,  like  a  shining  stream,  and  golden 
apples  fall  into  it.  You  will  stay  and  listen  ?  " 

"  I  must  not  now  stay  longer,  Fraulein." 

"  But  I  ask  you,"  said  Persis,  fixing  her  eyes  on 
him. 

"  I  must  not,  Fraulein,  indeed.  I  have  much  work 
to  do." 

She  considered  him  for  a  moment.  "  And  I  have 
already  kept  you  from  it  for  too  long.  Good-bye, 
then.  If  Ludwig  asks  you,  tell  him  that  I  waylaid 
you  and  kept  you  from  your  work." 

"  I  will  bear  the  responsibility  for  that,  Fraulein," 
said  Sachs  very  gravely  as  he  bowed  and  turned  away. 

Liidenstein,  with  whom  she  was  thus  left  alone, 
was  watching  her.  "  I  do  not  like  to  see  you  cry," 
he  said.  "What  is  it,  may  I  ask?"  He  seemed 
to  tower  above  her.  It  was,  curiously,  his  size,  the 
bulk  and  solidity  of  him,  that  was  to  her  one  of  his 
most  significant  attributes.  Ludwig  was  very  nearly 
as  tall,  yet  Ludwig's  presence  seemed  an  electric  vibra- 

280 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

tion  in  the  air  rather  than  a  substance.  To-day, 
though  she  had  been  abandoned,  she  seemed  to  hold 
a  talisman  against  bulk  and  solidity.  "  Yes ;  you 
may  ask,"  she  said  after  a  moment.  "  Herr  Sachs 
told  me  that  I  ought  either  to  marry  Ludwig  or  to 
send  him  away." 

"  So.     But  that  is  drastic." 

"  Herr  Sachs  is  not  a  person  for  half  meas- 
ures." 

"  An  admirable  father-confessor.  And  you  will 
follow  his  advice  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  Ludwig,"  said  Persis  after  a 
pause.  "  I  cannot  marry  him  and  I  cannot  send  him 
away." 

"  Could  you  send  me  away  ?  "  Liidenstein  inquired 
smiling.  They  had  begun  to  walk  up  the  garden 
path. 

She  glanced  at  him  and  her  glance  was  cold  and 
armed.  "  Perhaps  not.  But  it  would  not  be  because 
I  am  too  fond  of  you." 

"  Because  I  am  too  fond  of  you,  then  ?  " 

"  That  is  more  probable.  You  are  an  interest ;  an 
amusement." 

They  paused  at  the  steps  that  led  up  to  the  salon. 
"  And  little  Sachs  ?  "  Liidenstein  inquired ;  he  showed 
no  sign  of  discomfiture  and  it  was  part  of  his  power, 
she  recognised  that  clearly  to-day  when  he  seemed 
to  have  none  over  her,  that  he  never  met  her  on  a 
basis  of  past  admissions.  He  had  never  the  faintest 
air  of  taking  an  advantage. 

281 


She  looked  at  him  now  in  some  astonishment. 
"Herr  Sachs?" 

"Yes,  Herr  Sachs.  Our  little  Parsifal,"  said 
Liidenstein.  "  I  make  no  attempt  to  hide  my  jealousy. 
Could  anything  make  you  part  from  him?  Come 
now." 

"  I  did  not  guess  that  you  were  jealous,  too." 

"Ah,  but  I  am  jealous,  too,  very  jealous,"  said 
Liidenstein  laughing.  "  And  let  me  say  further  that 
little  Sachs  does  not  play  the  game  fairly.  It  is  not 
for  holy  men  to  filch  their  friends'  sweetmeats  away 
from  them." 

She  looked  at  him  now  with  an  ironic  smile. 
"You  know  that  that  is  not  true." 

"  No.     I  do  not  know  it." 

"You  know  that  it  is  not  true,"  Persis  repeated. 
"If  I  should  ever  marry  Ludwig  it  will  be  because 
of  Herr  Sachs.  Yes;  and  it  is  by  no  means  im- 
possible, let  me  tell  you,  that  I  shall  marry  Lud- 
wig." Her  indignation  brought  the  words.  Yet, 
now  that  they  were  uttered  she  felt  nothing  in 
them  that  she  wished  to  retract  They  seemed 
true. 

Liidenstein  faintly  flushed.  For  the  first  time  she 
saw  him  discomposed.  They  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps  and  eyed  each  other.  "You  do  not  torment 
me,  Fraulein  Persis,"  he  then  said,  and  in  his  glance, 
too,  there  was  irony,  "as  much  as  you  perhaps  im- 
agine. No;  do  not  misunderstand  me,  my  immunity 
is  based  not  on  indifference,  but  on  permanence. 

282 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Were  you  Ludwig's  wife  I  should  not  feel  more  hope- 
less than  I  now  do." 

Persis's  cheek  had  flamed.  She  found  herself,  as 
so  often  with  this  man,  bewildered.  Her  skilful  foil 
had  been  struck  from  her  hand.  "  Ah,  I  see,"  she 
murmured.  She  began  to  mount  the  steps. 

"  And  our  music  ?  "  said  Liidenstein,  smiling  up  at 
her  as  she  stood  above  him.  "  I  am  to  play  to  you 
to-day?" 

"  No.  Not  to-day,  thank  you."  She  looked  over 
his  head. 

"I  have  displeased  you  too  much?  I  have  of- 
fended too  much  in  my  allusions  to  Herr  Sachs? 
Such  holy  ground  is  not  permitted  to  my  feet  ?  " 

"I  think  that  may  be  it,"  said  Persis.  "At  all 
events  I  do  not  want  to  hear  you  play  to-day."  She 
left  him  standing  there  and  went  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THAT  afternoon  Persis  walked  up  to  the  woods. 
She  went  slowly,  in  the  shade  of  her  parasol, 
and  the  heat  was  pleasant  to  her  and  the  balmy  air 
part  of  her  mood  of  lassitude.  She  felt,  after  all  the 
stresses  and  terrors  of  the  last  weeks,  dispossessed, 
and  wanly  convalescent.  And  though  she  knew  that 
struggle  lay  before  her  and  that  her  talk  with  Sachs 
that  morning  had  been  filled  with  admissions  which, 
when  she  came  to  review  them,  might  amaze  her,  she 
need  not  review  them  now.  The  breath  had  blown 
over  her.  The  shadow  was  gone.  And  the  menace 
of  evil,  too,  had  not  that  been  put  aside,  a  part  of  the 
shadow  only  ?  She  did  not  want  to  think,  but  only  to 
walk  dreamily  and  to  taste  the  sense  of  freedom  and 
of  life  renewed. 

She  found  the  spot  she  sought;  the  bank  under 
the  tall  trees  where  she  and  Ludwig  had  sat  and  talked 
together  of  their  newly  found  friendship  and  he  had 
told  her  of  his  life.  She  sat  down  on  the  bank,  laid 
her  parasol  beside  her  and  took  off  her  hat.  And 
presently  she  leaned  back  and  rested  her  head  in  the 
deep  grass  and  closed  her  eyes. 

It  was  very  still.  The  sunlight  slanted  from  be- 
hind over  the  bank.  When  she  glanced  out  between 

284 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

her  lashes  she  saw  herself  encompassed  by  green 
shadows  as  the  light  filtered  down  from  the  radiant 
sky  through  screens  of  verdure. — Fragrant,  still,  de- 
licious. The  Arctic  rigors  that  had  bound  her  heart 
were  all  melting  and  flowing  from  her  in  peaceful 
streams.  Happy  beginnings  were  in  the  dreamy  calm. 
Her  arm  lay  out  upon  the  grass  and  she  turned  her 
palm  to  it  so  that  she  could  feel  its  warmth  and  soft- 
ness ;  so  deep  and  warm,  she  found  her  thoughts  drift- 
ing into  a  pleasant  torpor  and  that,  again,  sank  into 
oblivion.  She  was  nearly  asleep  when  she  heard  the 
sound  of  footsteps  approaching  her. 

For  a  moment,  overwhelming  her  peace  with  dark- 
ness, came  the  thought  of  Liidenstein.  She  was  ready 
to  spring  to  her  feet  when  she  recognized  the  quick, 
light,  nervous  step  and  then,  raising  her  lashes  to  a 
glimmer,  saw  that  it  was  Ludwig  himself  who  was 
coming  up  through  the  woodland.  She  was  aston- 
ished, and  then  delighted.  He  was  so  much  better. 
No  doubt  he  had  gone  to  the  pension  and  her  mother 
had  told  him  to  seek  her  here.  It  must  be  so.  He 
had  come  to  find  her,  and  with  the  certainty  some  im- 
pulse kept  her  lying  motionless.  He  would  believe 
that  she  was  asleep  and  she  waited  to  see  what  he 
would  do,  finding  her  there. 

The  memory  of  her  words  to  Sachs  came  to  her: 
"  He  has  never  told  me  so."  What  had  they  not 
revealed — to  him  and  to  herself,  they  and  her  tears? 
He  had  never  told  her,  and  how  could  she  know  her 
heart  until  he  did  so.  So  she  lay  still  and  the  presage 

285 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

of  solution,  troubled,  yet  delicious,  filled  her.  This 
would  be  the  answer,  the  escape,  the  initiation;  and 
in  this  spot,  hallowed  for  them,  the  pettinesses,  the 
bitternesses,  the  misunderstandings  would  fall  away. 
He  would  tell  her  that  he  loved  her  and  she  would 
know  that  she  loved  him ;  dear,  strange,  absurd,  beau- 
tiful Ludwig. 

She  closed  her  eyes  now,  for  he  had  seen  her  and 
he  drew  near  quickly.  She  heard  him  pause  above 
her,  looking  down  at  her,  and  delight  in  her  own  love- 
liness, caught  from  his  imagined  delight,  stirred  in 
her  breast.  She  knew,  for  the  first  time,  a  woman's 
intimate  joy  in  her  own  beauty  and,  as  she  seemed  to 
slumber,  unaware  and  oblivious,  she  heard  her  heart, 
far  below  the  happy  tumult,  heavily  throbbing. 

Wehlitz  sank  down  on  the  grass  beside  her. 

A  long  silence  followed.  It  grew  so  long  that  Per- 
sis  ventured  another  glimmer.  He  was  not  looking 
at  her  but  up  at  the  sky  and  trees.  His  uplifted  pro- 
file, seen  thus  from  below,  was  singularly  candid  and 
ingenuous.  She  had  never  seen  him  look  so  simply 
happy.  Near  them  a  bird  piped  three  soft  reiterated 
notes,  so  near  that  it  seemed  one  might  touch  it  with 
an  out-stretched  hand.  The  time  of  singing  was  long 
over;  this  was  a  musing  call  rather  than  a  song,  and 
after  a  little  interval  it  was  repeated.  Wehlitz  smiled, 
drawing  a  long  breath. 

A  sense  of  almost  heart-breaking  pathos  contracted 
the  young  girl's  throat  and  filled  her  eyes  with  tears. 
The  happiness  of  which  Conrad  had  spoken  seemed 

286 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

as  near  them  as  the  bird's  soft  call;  they  had  only 
to  put  out  a  hand  to  touch  it.  She  saw  herself  putting 
out  the  hand;  stretching  gentle  arms  to  him  and  say- 
ing :  "  I  know  that  you  love  me.  I  will  take  care 
of  you,  for  the  world,  for  your  work,  for  ever." 
Her  heart  stood  still  as  the  vision  came,  so  close  was 
it  to  accomplishment.  She  seemed  to  hold  back  her 
hand,  to  hold  her  breath,  to  give  herself  a  moment 
longer  before  putting  all  her  life  to  the  test.  And 
as  she  paused,  as  she  waited,  she  seemed  to  see  herself 
and  Ludwig  returning  to  Tannenkreuz,  affianced 
lovers.  She  saw  herself  the  wife  of  the  great  man, 
the  strange,  mysterious  genius.  And  then  the  picture 
of  happy  love  seemed  slowly  to  turn  and  to  show  her 
its  prosaic  yet  ambiguous  sequel.  Ludwig  and  her- 
self in  a  home  together;  Ludwig  and  herself  at  work, 
the  sinister,  inexorable  loneliness  of  his  thought  shut- 
ting the  world  away,  crushing  them  together  in  a 
tragic  unity.  How  could  she  live  with  Ludwig?  He 
was  foolish  and  violent  and  suspicious  and  he  looked 
like  the  little  chemist  in  the  dusty  Italian  town. 
Trivial  fears,  like  a  cloud  of  gnats,  uprose  above  the 
deep  fear  and  her  mind  drew  back,  denying,  refusing 
to  look;  she  saw  herself,  her  hands  before  her  face, 
fleeing  as  if  from  imminent  peril.  No,  no,  she  could 
not  hold  out  her  hand.  Then  came  a  sense  of  void 
and  darkness.  She  struggled  with  herself  in  a  cold 
bewilderment.  Oh!  to  recover  the  gladness  of  a  lit- 
tle while  ago!  And  now  she  argued  with  herself — 
or  was  it  against  Conrad?  and  was  it  not  for  Lud- 

287 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

wig's  sake? — "How  can  I  judge  of  the  sequel  with- 
out the  initiation?  I  do  not  know.  I  cannot  know. 
If  he  will  show  himself  my  lover,  now,  all  the  future, 
from  the  one  foothold  of  reality,  will  show  itself  so 
differently  to  me.  What  I  must  know  is  his  love,  his 
ardour,  his  delight."  She  caught  her  very  thoughts 
to  stillness  then,  for,  as  if  in  answer  to  her  inner  cry, 
she  felt  Ludwig  stir  as  he  sat  beside  her. 

Now  it  had  come.  Now  he  would  lean  to  her.  She 
would  hear  his  voice.  He  would  plead,  and  smile, 
and  tremble;  and  she,  for  all  answer,  would  she  not 
put  up  her  arms  to  him?  Yes;  she  would  let  him 
take  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her.  A  bright  colour 
flooded  her  face  and  throat.  He  leaned  near  her,  and 
nearer  still.  And  then,  again,  he  was  motionless. 

A  coolness  had  fallen  across  her  cheek.  She  could 
interpret  his  movement.  He  had  seen  her  flush  and 
had  shielded  her  from  the  sunlight.  Her  heart  sank 
slowly  from  its  loud  beating  and  again  the  long  green 
silence  flowed  about  them.  But  now  there  seemed 
to  lap  into  it,  as  if  from  a  sluggish,  subterranean  river 
of  darkness,  all  the  lassitude,  the  weariness,  the  irrita- 
tion of  the  past  weeks.  He  did  not  intend  to  wake 
her.  He  did  not  intend  to  tell  her  that  he  loved 
her.  There  was  to  be  no  solution,  no  lifting  wave  of 
feeling.  She  opened  her  eyes.  He  was  looking  at 
the  sky  and  she  examined  him  fixedly,  with  a  chill 
scrutiny.  She  counted  for  as  much  and  as  little  in 
his  happy  mood  as  the  bird  and  grass  and  sunlight- 
There  was  no  ardour  in  his  heart. 

288 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

She  stretched  out  her  arms;  they  felt,  curiously, 
as  if  she  had  been  engaged  in  some  exhausting  physi- 
cal conflict;  she  sighed  and  rubbed  the  backs  of  her 
hands  over  her  eyes.  And  now,  at  last,  when  every- 
thing was  over,  everything  too  late,  he  looked  down 
at  her  and  smiled  at  her.  She  simulated  a  mild 
amazement. 

"  You  have  been  asleep,"  he  said,  nodding.  "  You 
were  sleeping  when  I  came.  And  I  have  been  watch- 
ing you." 

She  propped  her  head  on  her  hand  and  lay  looking 
at  him. 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  has  been  ?  "  Wehlitz  went 
on,  with  the  gentle,  musing  gaze,  "  Feldeinsamkeit. 
You  remember  the  song  of  Brahms;  the  blissful  dis- 
persion of  the  soul  in  light  and  warmth  and  loneli- 
ness? See  those  clouds,  Persis.  They  look,  do  they 
not,  as  if  carved,  ripple  upon  ripple,  in  thin  chalcedony 
upon  the  blue.  Mein  Gott!  what  peace,  what  love- 
liness!" 

His  smile  had  left  her.  She  had  become,  again,  a 
part  of  the  day's  sweetness  only.  His  eyes  were  lifted 
to  the  rippled  sky  and  he  was  silent,  well  content  to 
be  so,  needing  nothing  further. 

It  was,  she  saw  it  clearly,  his  inmost  soul,  innocent, 
Germanic,  sweet  and  deep,  its  torturing  Nessus-robe 
of  thought  fallen  from  it,  and  she  hated  herself,  see- 
ing his  beauty;  for  she  was  far  from  her  own  soul, 
alienated,  perverted  with  conflicting  griefs.  She 
wished  to  hide  herself  and  weep. 

289 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

His  eyes  returned  to  her  at  last.  "  And  you  were 
part  of  it,  your  sleeping  face,  Persis,"  he  said.  "  The 
face  of  one  dear  to  us,  who  sleeps,  is  very  touching. 
It  becomes  holy  in  its  helplessness,  its  strange,  secret 
strength.  I  could  weep  over  the  sleeping  face  of  one 
I  love;  but  to-day  the  tears  would  have  been  happy 
tears.  You  have  had  joyful  dreams  as  I  watched 
over  you,  my  little  Persis?" 

She  was  filled  with  shame,  overwhelming  shame. 
An  older  woman  could  have  read  with  a  more  tolerant 
comprehension  her  own  impulses.  To  her  girlish 
heart,  turned  against  itself,  her  pretended  sleep,  seen 
in  contrast  with  his  trust,  took  on  the  guise  of  an 
unworthy  coquetry;  and  that  she  should  see  him  as 
so  beautiful,  yet  feel  the  beauty  as  a  wrong,  this  was 
a  deeper  unworthiness.  The  bitter  scorn  that  welled 
up  in  her  was  for  herself  rather  than  for  him,  yet  it 
involved  them  both.  "  No ;  I  have  not  dreamed," 
she  said,  hearing  the  curious  dryness  of  her  voice. 
"  My  empty  sleep  was  n't  at  all  holy."  She  sat  up, 
took  her  hat  upon  her  knees  and  pulled  out  its  rib- 
bons. 

"Ah,  but  no  sleep  is  empty;  it  listens,  it  journeys, 
it  gathers  power.  You  are  tired,  displeased,  Persis? 
I  woke  you,  though  I  sat  so  quietly?" 

She  was  afraid  that  she  must  break  into  tears,  and 
saw  his  peace,  like  the  stillness  of  the  rippled  sky, 
invaded  by  a  town's  shrill  tumult.  Fretfully  she  re- 
plied :  "  No ;  oh,  no ;  you  did  n't  wake  me.  Dis- 
pleased ?  Why  should  I  be  displeased  ?  "  and  rising 

290 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

she  tied  the  ribbons  of  her  hat  under  her  chin. 
Through  the  misery  and  disarray  of  her  thought  ran 
the  longing,  rootless,  hopeless,  yet  importunate,  that 
he  might  understand — understand  better  than  she  her- 
self could  do — and  rise  and  take  her  in  his  arms. 
But,  not  moving,  he  looked  up  at  her  and  his  eyes 
seemed  at  once  to  darken  and  to  become  dulled.  They 
dwelt  on  her  with  their  normal  sad  intensity,  yet  they 
withdrew  from  her.  "  I  do  not  know.  You  seemed 
displeased  with  me.  You  are  going  back  to  the 
town?" 

She  took  out  the  little  watch  tucked  in  the  ribbon 
at  her  waist,  swallowing  hard  on  a  rising  sob.  "  Yes. 
It  is  four  o'clock.  Mamma  will  be  expecting  me  back 
for  tea." 

The  muscle  in  his  cheek  began  to  twitch.  He 
smiled  ironically.  "  We  are  very  considerate  of 
Mamma  when  we  wish  to  leave  our  friends." 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  coming  back,  too,"  said 
Persis,  coldly.  Her  heart  seemed  broken. 

"  But  no,  but  no,"  Wehlitz  replied  as  coldly,  lean- 
ing his  elbow  in  the  grass  and  turning  his  eyes  from 
her.  "  Why  should  I  go  back  when  I  have  only  just 
come  away?  I  came  to  think,  to  be  at  peace  and 
alone." 

"  Since  you  came  to  be  alone,  you  must  not  say 
that  I  make  pretexts  for  leaving  my  friends,"  said 
Persis,  turning  away,  but  slowly,  and  looking  about 
her  as  if  uncertain  which  path  to  take. 

His  eyes  followed  her.  "  You  go  then.  Good. 
291 


It  is  well.  Is  it  Liidenstein  to-day  you  are  to  meet, 
or  Conrad?  It  must,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  be 
a  rendezvous  with  one  or  the  other  that  bids  you 
hasten,  rather  than  Mamma.  Good.  May  it  be  a 
pleasant  tete-a-tete." 

This  was  his  real  self,  too,  this  triviality,  this  folly, 
this  jealousy  founded  on  the  claim  of  no  ardour.  Yet 
she  had  the  feeling  of  a  guilty  creature  as  she  slowly 
walked  away,  making  no  reply. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

SIGNORINA  ZARDO  had  spent  that  morning 
with  Wehlitz.  He  was  much  better  and  she  felt 
no  surprise,  on  returning  in  the  afternoon,  to  hear 
that  he  had  gone  out.  Doubtless  it  had  been  to  find 
Persis,  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  the  evening  be- 
fore. She  was  engaged  in  writing  a  number  of  busi- 
ness letters  for  her  friend  and  sitting  down  at  the 
table  she  went  on  with  her  work  until  the  sun  slanted 
in  over  her  papers.  She  rose  then,  to  pull  down  the 
blind  and,  as  she  stood  at  the  window,  saw  Ludwig 
slowly  mounting  the  steps  of  the  terrace  beneath ;  from 
his  gaze,  as  he  raised  his  eyes  to  her,  a  profound  mel- 
ancholy reached  her. 

Of  all  her  many  unfortunate  or  troubled  friends 
Wehlitz  was  the  one  whose  welfare  lay  closest  to 
Signorina  Zardo's  heart.  She  seemed  to  see  him, 
always,  walking  on  the  verge  of  perils  from  which 
her  own  hand  was  too  feeble  to  withhold  him  and  to 
pray  that  some  stronger  hand  would  be  stretched  forth 
to  draw  him  to  safety;  as  if  one  watched,  helplessly, 
a  somnambulist  silhouetted  tragically  against  the  sky 
and  knelt  in  the  street  below,  silent  and  supplicating. 
"Ah!  il  povero!"  she  murmured  now,  running  to  the 
door  to  receive  him,  and  as  his  dragging  step  came 

293 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

along  the  corridor  and  he  appeared  before  her,  she  ex- 
claimed :  "  But  my  friend !  what  does  this  mean  ? 
Where  have  you  been?  You  have  exhausted  your- 
self." 

He  crossed  the  room  and  threw  himself  into  the 
chair  near  the  window  and  for  some  moments,  as  he 
sat  gazing  out  at  the  bright,  soft  evening  he  did  not 
answer  her  question.  Only  after  she  had  repeated, 
with  urgency,  "  Ludwig,  where  have  you  been  ?  "  did 
he  say ;  "  I  have  been  to  the  woods.  It  is  true ;  I 
am  exhausted." 

"  Ah ;  it  was  too  far  to  go,  on  your  first  day  of  real 
convalescence.  Your  hand  burns,  as  if  you  were  fe- 
verish again." 

He  did  not  look  at  her,  though,  passively,  he  al- 
lowed her  to  take  his  hand  and  left  it  lying  between 
hers.  Eleanora  was  almost  in  tears.  Presently,  turn- 
ing his  dull  eyes  to  the  table,  he  said,  pointing  to  a 
roll  of  manuscript  that  the  post  had  brought :  "  From 
Volmar,  that  must  be.  May  I  see  it  ?  " 

She  handed  the  parcel  to  him  and  he  opened  it, 
drawing  out  a  letter  and  the  corrected  proofs  of  his 
great  work.  He  had  sent  them  some  days  ago  to  this 
distinguished  man,  a  former  associate  of  his  at  the 
University.  When  Wehlitz  had  read  the  letter,  which 
was  short,  a  sickly  flush  covered  his  face  and  for  some 
moments  he  sat  in  silence,  gazing  at  the  wall  before 
him ;  then,  handing  it  to  Eleanora,  he  said :  "  The 
last  nail  in  the  coffin  of  a  friendship,"  and  turned 
his  eyes  again  on  the  trees  outside. 

294 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Signorina  Zardo  read.  The  letter  expressed,  coldly 
and  concisely,  its  writer's  reprobation  and  repug- 
nance. 

"  Dull,  dull,  dull  man !  "  Signorina  Zardo  murmured. 
She  stole  a  glance  at  Wehlitz,  aghast  indeed,  for 
Volmar's  judgment  was  a  power  in  Europe. 

"  Yet  the  kick  of  a  jackass  can  kill,"  he  commented. 
"  My  book  is  dead." 

"  No,  Ludwig ;  no,  no,  no — that  is  une  idee  noire." 
Signorina  Zardo  laid  the  letter  back  upon  the  table, 
forcing  her  tones  to  good  cheer.  "  His  is  a  mind  fixed 
in  its  own  formulas,  hardened  in  its  scholastic  mould. 
You  cannot  expect  understanding  from  such  as  he. 
Wait,  Ludwig,  wait,  till  the  young  minds  of  Europe 
have  heard  your  voice.  Then  you  will  gather  your 
laurels." 

"  I  shall  never  gather  laurels.  They  may  come,  but 
they  will  be  bound  upon  a  skull,"  said  Wehlitz,  and 
his  flat,  quiet  voice  alarmed  his  old  friend  more  than 
violence  would  have  done.  "  And  I  ask  for  no  laurels. 
I  ask  for  but  one  loving  and  understanding  heart. 
Young  minds?  What  of  the  mind  of  Conrad?  He 
loves  me — so  he  says — and  he  does  not  understand. 
What  of  the  mind  of  your  Persis?  Ah,"  he  slightly 
laughed,  "there  is  one  who  neither  understands  nor 
loves." 

"  Persis  ?  You  say  this  of  Persis  ?  "  cried  Signorina 
Zardo,  amazed.  "  Did  I  not  see  you  together,  only 
last  evening,  and  all  was  well  with  you?  How  can 
you  speak  so  of  one  who  truly  loves  you?" 

295 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  It  is  easy  for  you  women  to  talk  of  love/'  said 
Wehlitz,  with  his  smile  of  sickly  irony,  "  and  easy  for 
you  to  receive  it — but  to  feel  it,  no.  I  do  not  speak 
of  you,  Eleanora,  you  are  not  as  other  women.  I 
speak  of  Persis.  Hers  is  a  hard  heart  and  there  is  no 
love  for  me  in  it.  It  is,  I  sometimes  think,  my  great 
misfortune  to  have  met  her."  And  suddenly,  turning 
his  face  to  Signorina  Zardo's  shoulder,  he  leaned  it 
there,  saying :  "  I  am  lonely,  Eleanora.  I  am  lonely, 
and  very  unhappy." 

"  Ludwig !  Ludwig !  My  poor  friend !  What 
has  happened  ?  "  She  bent  over  him  with  murmurs  of 
compassion  and  entreaty.  "  Tell  me  what  has  hap- 
pened. Let  me  know.  Do  not  judge  her  so  hardly. 
This  is  a  misunderstanding;  a  lover's  quarrel, 
Ludwig." 

He  shook  his  head,  still  keeping  his  face  hidden 
on  her  shoulder.  "  No ;  no  lover's  quarrel.  She 
does  not  love  me.  She  will  never  love  me." 

"Why  do  you  say  so?  Why  do  you  think  so? 
You  know  what  I  feel  for  you,  and  for  her,  Ludwig. 
That  you  should  find  each  other  was  one  of  my  deep- 
est hopes.  It  breaks  my  heart  to  hear  you  speak  like 
this." 

"  I  have  seen  her,"  said  Wehlitz,  with  difficulty. 
"I  found  her  in  the  woods  and  we  spoke  together. 
No;  I  cannot  tell  you.  She  mocks  me.  She  mocks 
my  tenderness  for  her.  She  despises  me.  I  am  ri- 
diculous in  her  eyes,  and  she  makes  me  ridiculous  in 
my  own.  It  must  end,  Eleanora."  His  voice  had 

296 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

changed.  He  raised  his  head.  "  It  must  end.  I 
shall  leave  Tannenkreuz." 

"  But  you  have  explained  nothing,  Ludwig," 
Eleanora  cried.  "  Wait.  Do  not  be  so  hasty.  You 
misjudge  Persis;  I  feel  that  you  are  unfair  to  her. 
There  is  some  misunderstanding  here." 

He  looked  at  her  sombrely.  "  You  will  defend  her, 
and  Conrad  will  defend  her.  You  all  conspire  to 
throw  the  blame  on  me.  Well,  so  be  it.  Hers  is 
the  noble  heart  and  mine  the  mean  one.  So  be  it. 
I  am  well  accustomed  to  my  solitude."  As  he  spoke 
there  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  Eleanora,  turning 
quickly,  breathed: 

"  It  will  be  Persis  herself — come  to  make  all  right. 
She  was  to  have  had  tea  with  us  to-day.  You  will 
remember." 

But  as  Ludwig  cried  out,  in  a  voice  curiously 
blended  of  fear  and  hope,  "  Come  in! "  it  was  Liiden- 
stein  who  entered. 

He  paused  on  the  threshold  to  glance  from  one  to 
the  other  of  the  strained  faces. 

Wehlitz  started  to  his  feet.  "  Enter !  enter, 
Ernst ! "  he  cried  with  a  laugh  that  seemed  to  dangle 
in  mid  air  like  some  galvanized  hanging  creature. 
"  Come  in !  It  is  too  long  since  we  have  had  one  of 
our  good  talks!  Sit  down — that  chair — and  take 
your  pipe.  The  Signorina  permits,  as  we  know.  I 
have  heard  a  jackass  bray  this  evening,  Ernst,  loudly, 
in  my  ear.  See — give  him  the  letter,  I  beg  of  you, 
Eleanora.  See  what  Volmar  writes  to  me.  It  is  in- 

297, 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

telligent,  as  you  will  find.  A  crack  of  the  whip  at  his 
heels  will  be  my  fitting  answer." 

Ludenstein  had  crossed  the  room  and  sunk  in  his 
accustomed  place,  and,  as  he  opened  and  read  the 
letter,  Wehlitz  stood  grasping  the  back  of  his  chair 
with  both  hands,  keeping  feverish  eyes  upon  his 
friend.  Eleanora  also  fixed  Graf  von  Ludenstein 
with  a  steady,  contemplative  gaze. 

"  No ;  it  is  not  intelligent,"  he  commented,  smiling 
and  glancing  up  from  the  letter  which  he  then  tossed 
back  upon  the  table.  "Waste  no  lashes  upon  him, 
my  friend.  He  will  not  care  to  stray  again  into  your 
mountain  pastures;  the  savour  of  their  pungent  herbs 
is  not  one  that  his  fat  paunch  can  digest.  Let  the 
colic  that  this  letter  so  accurately  expresses  be  his 
punishment." 

Wehlitz  laughed  loudly.  "Aha!  Well  said! 
Well  said,  Ernst!  The  Colic-Giver!  My  new  title! 
I  dispense  gripes  and  writhings  to  our  plethoric, 
flatulent  Europe.  Ah,  you  are  a  man  after  my  own 
heart,  Ernst,"  he  continued  to  laugh  his  loud,  mirth- 
less laugh.  "  And  now  you  can  do  me  another  serv- 
ice. The  Signorina  and  I  were  talking  of  Frau- 
lein  Fennamy  and  of  my  suit  to  her.  You  see  her 
often,  Ernst.  You  have  just  come  from  her,  is  not 
that  so?  What  do  you  feel  as  to  my  chances? 
As  a  loyal  friend,  Ernst.  Come,  as  a  loyal 
friend." 

He  had  ceased  to  laugh.  Ludenstein,  filling  his 
pipe,  looked  at  him  with  half -closed  eyes.  "  I  did 

298 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

not  know  that  you  still  courted  Fraulein  Fennamy, 
Ludwig,"  he  observed. 

"  You  did  not  know  that  I  courted  her  ?  You  did 
not  know  that  I  hope  to  make  her  my  wife?  "  Wehlitz 
spoke  with  sharpened  accents.  "  Has  she  told  you 
that  there  is  no  hope  for  me  ?  " 

"  By  no  means.  You  are  mistaken  if  you  think 
that  the  Fraulein  makes  confidences  to  me.  When  we 
meet  it  is  for  music,  or  I  am  sent  by  you  to  her,  as 
it  was  the  other  day,  you  will  remember.  I  can  barely 
count  myself  a  friend.  No;  I  have  not  come  from 
the  Pension  Miiller,  but  I  went  there  this  morning, 
hoping  for  an  hour  of  music,  and  she  dismissed  me. 
She  had  work  to  do,  she  said." 

Wehlitz  had  come  round  his  chair  and  sank  into  it, 
looking  intently  at  his  friend  and  repeating :  "  She 
dismissed  you.  She  had  work  to  do.  There  was  no 
music  to  be  had  to-day." 

For  a  little  time  after  this  there  was  silence,  broken 
only  by  the  meditative  puffs  of  Liidenstein's  pipe,  the 
creaking  of  Eleanora's  silk  bodice  as  she  breathed  and 
the  soft  tap-tap  of  Wehlitz's  finger-nails  on  the  arm 
of  his  chair.  The  pipe  presently  drew  with  a  little 
sputtering  sound,  and  taking  it  from  between  his 
teeth  to  press  the  tobacco  in  and  to  relight  it,  Liiden- 
stein  pursued  laconically :  "  But  if  you  wish  for  au- 
thoritative information  as  to  the  state  of  Fraulein 
Fennamy's  feelings,  Ludwig,  it  is  to  friend  Sachs  that 
you  should  address  your  inquires.  He  is  her  father- 
confessor,  and  has  often,  I  imagine,  a  penitent  to 

299 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

counsel  and  console.  So  it  must  have  been  this  morn- 
ing when  I  found  them  so  cunningly  hidden  in  the 
orchard.  She  was  weeping,  and  there  had  evidently 
been  a  scene  of  much  emotion  between  them."  The 
pipe  drew  clearly;  Ludenstein  puffed  gently  at  it  be- 
tween his  sentences,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  trees  outside. 
A  deep  flush  mounted  to  Wehlitz's  face. 

"  They  are  friends,  good  friends,"  he  said,  thickly, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "  And  Conrad  is  my  emis- 
sary to  her  when  I  cannot  go  myself.  Weeping? 
.Why  was  she  weeping?  Tell  me  what  you  saw !  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  why  she  wept?  "  said  Luden- 
stein, slightly  smiling.  "  I  am  not  her  father-con- 
fessor. No,  he  could  not  this  morning  have  been 
your  emissary,  for  she  desired  him  to  tell  you,  did  you 
question  him,  that  it  was  she  who  had  waylaid  and 
taken  him  from  his  work.  It  is  at  the  grille,  at  the 
foot  of  the  garden,  that  she  waits  for  him." 

"  Speak  plainly !  "  Wehlitz  cried,  with  a  sudden  dis- 
maying violence.  The  veins  were  swollen  in  his  neck 
and  forehead,  and  he  started  forward,  grasping  both 
arms  of  his  chair  as  if  to  restrain  himself.  "  Speak 
plainly!  What  do  you  know?  She  loves  him! 
Have  I  not  suspected  it !  Together  they  mock  at  me 
and  my  doctrines !  " 

"  Calm,  my  friend ;  calm,"  said  Ludenstein  gravely, 
raising  his  hand.  "Do  not  rush  so  rapidly  to  con- 
clusions so  crude.  Yes.  I  will  speak  plainly,  and 
I  am  glad  that  you  give  me  this  opportunity  for  frank- 
ness. All  that  I  should  wish  to  say  to  you,  Ludwig, 

300 


THE  ENCOUNTER" 

is  this:  if  you  must  send  an  emissary  to  a  woman,  let 
it  be  a  rake  rather  than  a  Parsifal." 

"A  rake  rather  than  a  Parsifal?"  Fallen  back  in 
his  chair,  Wehlitz  looked  from  Ludenstein  to  Eleanora 
with  a  sort  of  bewilderment. 

"  Precisely,"  said  Ludenstein,  nodding.  "  How 
could  you  expect  your  courtship  to  flourish  in  such 
hands?  His  feeling  for  her  you  were  at  once  aware 
of.  Love?  It  is  nothing  so  commonplace  and  noth- 
ing so  wholesome,  this  self -deceiving  sublimation  of 
instinct.  There  is  no  conscious  treachery  to  you ;  dis- 
miss the  idea  of  such  a  thing.  Could  he  make  his 
appeal  to  her  if  he  were  not  the  veritable  saint?  It 
is  her  soul,  my  friend,  her  soul  he  seeks  to  sustain 
and  lift,  and  what  woman  since  the  world  began  was 
ever  able  to  resist  that  finest  flattery  of  being  told 
that  she  had  a  soul — and  a  soul  precious  to  its  dis- 
coverer? You  could  not  deal  in  these  delicate  com- 
fits, my  poor  Ludwig.  No;  I  make  no  accusations. 
I  advise  you,  that  is  all,  if  you  still  hope  to  make 
Fraulein  Fennamy  your  wife,  to  send  Parsifal  pack- 
ing." 

Sunken  in  his  chair,  Wehlitz  gazed  starkly  at  his 
friend.  Eleanora  unfolded  her  arms  as  if  with  pre- 
caution and  clasped  her  hands  tightly  together  in  her 
lap. 

"  I  perceive,"  Ludenstein  added,  turning  his  eyes 
on  her  with  a  slight  bow,  "  that  what  I  say  is  no  news 
to  the  Signorina." 

"  You  all  deceive  me ! "   shouted  Wehlitz.     Elea- 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

nora  for  a  moment  had  kept  a  silence  that  might  be 
construed  as  helpless.  He  raised  himself  in  his  chair 
and  turned  to  confront  her.  "  You  are  all  conspired 
to  deceive  me !  What  is  it,  then,  that  you,  too,  know  ? 
Where  is  it  that  you,  too,  have  seen  them  cunningly 
hidden?  What  is  it  that  they  say  of  me?  Speak! 
This  is  the  time  for  plain  speech — if  there  is  any 
friendship  for  me  in  your  heart ! " 

"I  am  grieved,  grieved,  grieved,  Ludwig,"  said 
Eleanora  in  a  low  voice.  "And  you  know  that 
I  do  not  speak  of  these  matters  except  to  you 
alone." 

"  But  you  must  speak  now  in  Liidenstein's  pres- 
ence! If  what  he  says  is  false — refute  it!" 

"A  half-truth  is  difficult  to  refute,  Ludwig;  Graf 
von  Liidenstein's  is  that  only,  if  as  much  as  that. 
Did  I  not  implore  you  at  the  time  to  pay  your  suit 
to  Persis  in  person  and  to  send  no  deputy?  And  did 
not  Herr  Sachs  implore  you?  It  is  untrue — untrue — 
what  Graf  von  Liidenstein  says  of  Herr  Sachs,  and 
he  knows  it,  and  you  should  know  it  too.  He  does 
not  hide  with  her.  He  does  not  filch  her  heart  from 
you — that  would  be  the  deed  of  a  far  different  man; 
and  if  she  has  come  to  depend  too  much  upon  him — 
whose  is  the  fault?  Why  do  you  not  win  her  as 
your  wife?"  And  slightly  panting  now  from  the 
accumulated  impetus  of  her  speech,  the  good  woman 
added,  casting  a  glance  of  open  hostility  upon  Liiden- 
stein: "And  of  Graf  von  Liidenstein's  insinuations 
I  will  only  say  that  if  some,  it  may  be  true,  deceive 

302 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

themselves,    for    others    no    such    excuses    can    be 
offered." 

"  It  is  only  self-deceivers  who  are  in  need  of  ex- 
cuses, Signorina,"  Liidenstein  returned.  He  had, 
during  her  speech,  smiled  with  an  air  of  quiet  relish. 
"  What  do  I  say  that  you  have  not  said  also  ?  I 
warn  Ludwig — as  you,  unless  I  misunderstand  you, 
warn  him — that  he  should  make  love  himself,  and 
not  send  others  to  console  for  the  lack  of  love-making. 
And  if  we  must  not  speak  of  love,  I  see,  too,  as  you 
do,  that  if  Fraulein  Fennamy  is  to  have  a  father-con- 
fessor it  would  be  well  that  he  should  at  least  teach 
the  same  creed  as  Ludwig's.  A  mind  so  young  as 
Fraulein  Fennamy's  may  well  become  confused  if 
Herr  Sachs,  on  the  one  hand,  is  engaged  in  rescuing 
her  from  the  teachings  that  Ludwig,  on  the  other, 
seeks  to  impart.  One  may  steal  minds  as  well  as 
hearts;  and  there  is  more  than  one  way  of  stealing 
hearts.  Bah !  " — throwing  back  his  head  he  laughed 
softly.  "  These  religious  cravings  of  the  female 
heart!  Have  you  not  yourself,  Ludwig,  with  your 
delicate  sense  of  irony,  laid  bare  again  and  again  these 
lures  of  nature?  That  longing  to  draw  close — close 
to  the  saint,  to  look  deep  into  his  eyes — to  weep 
upon  his  shoulder?  What  does  it  mean — what 
has  it  always  meant  but  the  mask  of  desire?  Our 
young  Fraulein  is  passionless,  it  is  true,  cold  with  the 
arid  coldness  of  her  pinchbeck  race.  There  are  but 
two  ways  of  winning  such  a  woman.  One  is  through 
hci  vanity;  her  ambition,  the  other  through  her  reli- 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

gious  instincts ;  and  they,  indeed,  are  but  another  form 
of  that  insatiable  vanity  which  is  woman.  I  speak  in 
commonplaces.  Is  not  history  their  embodiment? 
Send  him  away,  Ludwig,  send  your  Quasimodo 
Parsifal  away,  and  then  show  the  Fraulein  an  ideal- 
ized portrait  of  herself,  or  else  equip  yourself  with 
worldly  potency.  Place  her  high.  Set  her  foot  upon 
the  neck  of  others.  Only  so  will  you  win  her. 
Never,  Ludwig,  never,  as  the  scrupulous,  passionless, 
impoverished  professor.  Why,  is  it  not  as  plain  as 
day?  I  speak  to  you  as  a  friend."  He  had  spoken, 
indeed,  with  full  gravity  and  even  with  an  unaccus- 
tomed bitterness,  and  rising  he  knocked  out  the  ashes 
of  his  pipe  against  the  stove,  avoiding  the  smoulder- 
ing glance  of  his  stricken  friend.  Glancing  at  Elea- 
nora,  he  murmured :  "  It  is  now  the  Signorina's 
turn,  and  I  perceive  from  her  demeanour  that  she  will 
not  spare  the  calumniator  of  her  sex.  Believe  me, 
gnadiges  Fraulein,  in  all  that  I  have  said,  I  hold  you 
a  shining  exception."  He  bowed  before  her  and  left 
them. 

Some  moments  passed  before  Wehlitz  turned  his 
eyes  upon  Eleanora.  She  met  them  with  resolution. 
But,  after  the  encounter,  bending  his  head  upon  his 
arms,  he  murmured:  "I  shall  go  mad.  Between 
you  all  you  will  drive  me  mad." 

"  My  Ludwig,"  said  Eleanora.  She  came  to  him 
and  sat  down  beside  him.  "  Listen  to  me.  Courage ! 
Do  not  let  dark  thoughts  come.  You  are  over- 
strained— overweary,  that  is  all.  Listen  to  me,  Lud- 

304 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

wig.  It  is  true.  I  could  not  speak  before  that  man. 
An  evil  man;  do  you  not  feel  it?  Oh,  he  is  not  fit 
to  tread  in  the  footprints  of  little  Sachs,  and  he  seeks 
to  part  you  from  him.  And  why  does  he  seek  it, 
Ludwig?  Why?  He  is  jealous;  he  is  devouringly 
jealous  of  Sachs  and  of  the  bond  that  unites  him 
to  Persis.  Could  a  soul  such  as  his  understand  such 
a  bond  ?  It  is  laughable !  With  his  talk  of  Parsifals ! 
I  scorn  him !  "  Tears  had  come,  and  she  paused  only 
to  dash  them  away  while  Ludwig,  still,  lay  like  a 
wrecked  thing.  "  Listen,  Ludwig,"  she  went  on,  lay- 
ing her  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "Be  calm.  Is  it 
not  clear  to  you  that  he  himself  loves  Persis  and  would 
win  her  from  you  and  Sachs?  From  the  first,  from 
the  first  day  they  met,  I  read  his  mind.  Her  mother, 
too,  read  it.  Annetta  saw  with  me.  And  you,  my 
hawk-sighted  Ludwig,  were  not  so  blinded;  you,  too, 
suspected;  you,  too,  saw  in  his  eyes  as  they  rested  on 
her  the  cold  appraisement  of  the  libertine.  And  now 
he  bides  his  time  in  the  hope  of  sowing  dissension  be- 
tween you  and  Persis,  and  you  and  Sachs,  and  of 
making  her  his  victim.  Ah!  if  she  were  another 
woman,  I  might  tremble  for  her,  for  he  has  power 
and  charm  and  skill.  But  I  know  Persis.  He 
amuses  her  only,  and  his  music  pleases  her;  that  is 
all.  No,  Ludwig,  her  heart  is  yours.  Yours,  I  re- 
peat it,  whatever  may  have  passed  between  you  to- 
day. And  the  time  has  now  come  for  courage,  de- 
termination, ardour.  You  heard  his  sneer;  you  heard 
what  he  said  of  you — the  passionless  professor.  He 

305 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

does  not  believe  you  capable  of  winning  a  woman's 
heart!  Laugh  at  him  and  at  his  sneers!  Prove  to 
him  how  little  he  knows  of  you — judging  as  he  does 
by  gross  standards.  Woo  her;  woo  her  yourself, 
Ludwig.  You  will  win  her;  I  answer  for  it  that  you 
will  win  her.  Ah!  it  is  propitious.  Here  is  our 
good,  our  trusted  friend,  Herr  Sachs  himself!" 

Wehlitz  raised  his  head;  his  eyes,  dazed  with  their 
long  hiding,  blinked  rapidly  as  he  fixed  them  upon 
Conrad.  Without  speaking,  he  watched  him  as  he 
advanced  into  the  room  and  took  his  place  at  the  table. 

"  Herr  Sachs  will  uphold  me  in  all  that  I  have  said," 
Signorina  Zardo  murmured.  Lud wig's  demeanour 
alarmed  her. 

"  Herr  Sachs  is  in  the  good  graces  of  the  ladies,  as 
we  know,"  said  Wehlitz,  smiling.  "  Well,  and  when 
did  you  last  see  your  interesting  young  friend,  Con- 
rad? I  may  ask?  I  make  no  claim  to  be  admitted 
to  your  secret  conferences." 

Sachs  looked  at  him  with  grave  attention.  "  I  saw 
Fraulein  Fennamy  this  morning,  Ludwig,"  he  replied. 

"Ah!  you  are  frank;  a  brave,  honest  creature. 
Eine  gute  Haut.  You  would  hide  nothing  from  your 
friend.  You  spoke  of  me?  Perhaps  this,  too,  I  may 
learn  from  you." 

"  We  spoke  of  you ;  yes,"  Sachs  looked  down  now 
at  the  table. 

"  And  what  did  you  have  to  say  of  me,  eh?  Good 
things,  Conrad?  Good,  friendly  things?" 

"I  found  Fraulein  Fennamy  somewhat  perplexed 
306 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

and  distressed,  Ludwig.  Your  lack  of  trust  in  her 
disturbs  her;  your  jealousy.  I  explained  to  her  that 
these  difficulties  arose  from  your  devotion  to  her  and 
that  it  was  natural  that  you  should  distrust  other 
influences  in  her  life — my  influence,  for  instance.  I 
do  not  think  that  you  would  have  found  anything  to 
complain  of  in  what  was  said  of  you." 

At  this,  for  some  moments,  there  was  silence. 

"  And  she?  "  Wehlitz  presently  asked. 

"  What  she  feels,  I  think,  Ludwig,  is  that  a  more 
perfect  devotion  would  show  more  trust.  She  feels  in 
your  demands  upon  her  a  menace  to  her  freedom." 

"  Her  freedom ! "  Wehlitz  sneeringly  laughed. 
"The  freedom  of  the  female!  If  I  could  impose  my 
will  upon  our  despicable  civilization,  that  freedom 
would  consist  in  moving  from  the  hearth  to  the  cradle 
and  back  again !  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  this  instinct  in  you  that  the 
Fraulein  detects  and  resents,"  Sachs  commented  with 
some  dryness.  "If  what  you  say  is  true,  why  do  you 
waste  your  time  in  teaching  your  philosophy  to  her  ?  " 

Wehlitz  now  turned  his  head  away  and  looked  out 
of  the  window.  "  I  do  not  need  that  taunt  from 
you,"  he  said  presently.  "  I  teach  her  philosophy  be- 
cause she  will  not  consent  to  be  my  wife." 

"  I  do  not  taunt  you,"  said  Sachs  gently. 

There  was  silence  again  for  a  little  while.  Sachs 
twisted  and  untwisted  the  fringes  of  the  mat  that  lay 
beneath  the  lamp.  His  face,  while  they  had  spoken, 
had  dully  flushed.  "  Why  do  you  say  that  she  will 

307 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

not  marry  you,  Ludwig?  "  he  said  at  length.  "  That 
is  not  a  correct  way  of  putting  it.  You  have  never 
asked  her  to  marry  you.  May  this  not  explain  much 
of  the  trouble  now  between  you  ?  " 

"  Ah !  But  that  is  what  I  wished  to  ask  you ! " 
Eleanora  cried.  "  That  is  what  I  was  saying  to  Lud- 
wig as  you  came  in!  He  loves  her,  yet  he  has  never 
wooed  her.  What  woman's  heart  was  ever  won  in 
such  a  fashion?  How  can  he  know  what  is  in  her 
heart  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  go  further,  signorina/'  said  Sachs.  "  How  can 
she  know  what  is  in  her  own  heart  ?  " 

"Her  heart?"  Wehlitz  repeated.  His  voice  had 
changed.  Its  irony  and  bitterness  were  gone. 
"  There  is  no  love  for  me  in  her  heart.  Did  I  not 
see  it,  clearly,  at  last,  to-day?  Kindness  sometimes, 
and  admiration  sometimes,  and  sometimes  pity;  but 
love  never.  How  can  I  speak  of  love  to  a  heart  so 
hard?  It  is  only  to  love  that  love  can  speak."  He 
leaned  his  head  down  on  his  arms. 

Sachs  and  Eleanora  exchanged  glances  of  profound 
anxiety. 

"You  will  rest  now,  Ludwig,"  said  Eleanora, 
rising.  "You  are  overworn.  You  will  rest,  and 
Herr  Sachs  will  sit  beside  you  and  keep  you  com- 
pany." 

"  No,  no;  I  will  be  alone,"  said  Wehlitz  in  a  muffled 
voice. 

"  But,"  said  Eleanora  after  a  pause,  in  which  her 
eyes  and  Sachs's  again  sought  mutual  counsel,  "  you 

308 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

will  go  to  bed,  will  you  not?  You  will  try  to  get 
some  sleep  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  to  bed.  I  shall  hope  to  sleep,"  he  re- 
peated dully. 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "That  is 
well,  Ludwig.  That  is  well;  and  when  you  have 
slept  you  will  see  that  all  these  dark  thoughts  are 
phantoms.  You  will  be  strong  again,  you  will  be 
yourself.  And,  Ludwig,  I  beseech  you,  delay  no 
longer.  Go  yourself  to  Persis  and  ask  her  yourself 
to  marry  you.  Yes;  to-morrow.  Let  this  uncer- 
tainty and  misunderstanding  end." 

"  I  will  not  ask  her  to  marry  me,"  said  Wehlitz. 
"  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  her.  We  do  not  love  each 
other." 

Signorina  Zardo  stood  above  him,  taken  aback. 

Suddenly  he  raised  his  head.  "  Do  not  be  trou- 
bled," he  said.  "  I  shall  sleep  well.  I  am  not  the 
man  to  be  brokenhearted  over  a  brittle  girl.  You  will 
come  to-morrow,  Eleanora,  and  help  me  again  with 
my  letters?  Yes?  There  is  still  much  to  do.  And 
Conrad  has  his  researches  to  continue  in  the  heart  of 
Fraulein  Fennamy.  We  must  not  interrupt  him;  no; 
that  would  be  a  pity.  We  must  not  take  the  services 
of  her  father-confessor  from  her." 

"  Ludwig !  Ludwig !  "  said  Eleanora  in  a  low  voice 
of  pain  and  reprobation. 

But  rising  and  sweeping  his  hand  at  them,  though 
still  he  did  not  turn  his  eyes  on  Sachs,  he  cried :  "  I 
will  hear  no  more!  I  am  ill!  I  am  exhausted!  If 

309 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

I  am  to  do  my  work,  I  must  have  peace!  And  my 
work  is  still  of  value  to  the  world ! — yes,  though  you 
may  all  laugh  at  it !  Good-night  to  you  now.  I  have 
no  more  time  to  waste  in  talk  of  love-affairs." 

"If  you  wish  it,  Ludwig,  if  you  wish  it,  yes," 
Eleanora  murmured,  casting  a  frightened  glance  upon 
him.  Tip-toeing  with  discretion,  as  though  in  a  sick 
room,  she  moved  towards  the  door,  Conrad,  pale  and 
heavy  and  with  downcast  eyes,  following  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MRS.  FENNAMY  dressed  and  came  down 
earlier  than  was  her  wont  next  morning. 
Persis  had  breakfasted  in  bed,  and  there  had  been  no 
temptation  to  loiter  over  coffee  and  rolls.  It  was  a 
wet  day,  too,  and  the  sound  of  the  south-western  rain 
dashing  against  her  window-panes  had  depressed  the 
little  lady.  Ten  o'clock,  therefore,  saw  her  exchang- 
ing comments  on  the  weather  with  the  major  in  the 
salon.  Here  Eleanora  came  to  seek  her,  and  Mrs. 
Fennamy  looked  with  some  anxiety  at  her  friend's 
face  as  she  laid  a  hand  upon  her  arm  and  drew  her 
into  the  sitting-room.  She  seemed  not  to  have  slept. 
She  was  haggard  and  dishevelled,  and  had  evidently 
been  crying. 

"  The  only  thing,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  objected,  as  Elea- 
nora closed  the  sitting-room  door  upon  them,  "  is  that 
Persis  and  Herr  Wehlitz  will  want  to  have  their  les- 
son here  this  morning.  He 's  up  again,  you  know. 
He  came  here  yesterday  afternoon  and  went  up  to 
the  woods  to  find  her." 

"  He  will  not  come  this  morning,  Annetta,"  said 
Signorina  Zardo.  "  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you 
were  never  to  see  Ludwig  Wehlitz  again." 

3" 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Mrs.  Fennamy,  who  had  seated  herself  at  the  table, 
looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "  Why,  what 's  happened, 
Eleanora  ?  "  she  inquired. 

Resting  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  as  she  sat  on  the 
sofa,  Eleanora  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "  I 
do  not  know  what  has  happened,"  she  said.  "  All 
that  I  know  is  that  she  has  hurt  him,  hurt  him  cruelly, 
and  that  to-day  he  refuses  to  see  either  me  or  Herr 
Sachs.  Oh,  my  blame  is  not  only  for  Persis;  the 
wrong  lies  deeper.  For,  at  the  beginning,  her  girl's 
heart  turned  to  him,  and  he  was  robbed  of  it." 

"Robbed  of  it?"  Mrs.  Fennamy  again  inquired. 
"  How  do  you  mean,  Eleanora  ?  " 

Signorina  Zardo  now  rose  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  little  room.  She  held  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes.  "  It  is  you,"  she  said.  "  It  is  you,  Annetta ! 
You  have  broken  and  destroyed  him.  Had  it  not 
been  for  you  she  might  have  loved  him." 

"Well,  I  never!"  Mrs.  Fennamy  mildly  ejaculated. 
Her  eyes  followed  Eleanora  with  solicitude. 

"You  cannot  deny  it!  You  cannot  deny  it, 
Annetta!  Not  if  you  are  honest  with  yourself! " 

"I  never  thought  him  attractive  physically,  if 
that's  what  you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy  after  a 
moment. 

"Attractive!  Physically!  Yes!  it  is  what  I 
mean,"  said  Eleanora.  "  How  is  a  young  girl  to  fall 
in  love  if  there  is  no  physical  attraction?  What  is 
physical  attraction  but  an  infection,  a  suggestion,  the 
subtlest,  most  derivative  of  feelings?  A  girl  may  be 

312 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

turned  towards  or  from  a  man  by  a  glance  of  ad- 
miration or  irony." 

To  this  Mrs.  Fennamy  nodded  assent.  "  That 's 
perfectly  true,  Eleanora,"  she  said.  "I've  often 
thought  so  and  how  queer  and  dreadful  it  is,  in  a  way, 
to  think  that  these  important  things  in  life  are  more 
like  cobwebs  than  like  the  bonds  of  steel  people  im- 
agine. All  the  same,  you  know,"  she  continued,  "  I 
don't  think  it's  quite  fair  to  say  I  was  ironic.  He 
often  surprised  me  very  much  and  seemed  to  me  very 
foolish;  but  I  never  felt  ironic  exactly.  I  just  didn't 
admire  him;  that  was  all.  And  if  it  was  that  that 
kept  Persis  from  falling  in  love  with  him,  I  can't 
say  I  'm  sorry  for  it,  you  know,  though  I  'm  as  sorry 
as  can  be  for  Herr  Wehlitz." 

"  No ;  you  are  not  sorry,"  said  Eleanora.  She  still 
walked  up  and  down,  but  her  tears  had  ceased  and  her 
arms  hung  dolefully  at  her  sides,  "  You  have  no  re- 
gret or  pity.  Your  heart  is  like  your  child's,  a  hard 
one.  Yet  it  would  have  redeemed  and  made  him 
whole,  that  desolate  man.  He  needed  only  the  touch, 
the  look.  Love ;  the  simple,  tender  things ;  they  were 
there  beneath  his  hand,  and  you  robbed  him  of  them — 
you,  Annetta,  with  your  childishness  and  your  small 
marionette's  vision.  Had  Persis  been  alone  in  Tan- 
nenkreuz  this  autumn,  Ludwig  would  have  won  her." 

There  was  silence  after  this  for  a  little  while. 
Eleanora  had  gone  to  stand  beside  the  window  from 
whence  she  gazed  out  with  her  tear-worn  eyes,  un- 
seeingly,  into  the  wet  day,  and  Mrs.  Fennamy  sat  at 

3*3 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

the  table,  meditating,  quite  without  resentment. 
"  If  it 's  true,  Eleanora,"  she  said  at  last,  "  if  it 's  true 
that  I  influenced  Persis  without  trying  to,  it 's  his  own 
fault,  too,  that  he  has  n't  won  her.  He 's  worn  her 
out.  If  he'd  let  his  theories  more  alone  and  made 
love  to  her  like  any  other  man,  she  might  have  taken 
him  in  spite  of  everything  you  say  I  did." 

Eleanora  looked  out  into  the  street.  "  He  could  not 
be  like  another  man,  Annetta,"  she  said,  and  now 
with  a  deep  melancholy  from  which  all  accusatory 
violence  had  passed  away.  "  I,  too,  saw  that  his  dif- 
ference from  other  men  was  to  lose  her  to  him.  It 
was  her  mind  she  gave  him  to  win,  and  it  was  his 
appeal  to  her,  his  charm,  his  weapon,  that  he  wished 
to  win  her  mind.  He  showed  her  the  philosopher, 
when  he  was  in  reality  the  lover,  because  she  had  led 
him  to  believe  that  it  was  the  philosopher  she  valued. 
If  she  could  have  loved  him  she  would  have  released 
the  lover.  If  beauty  could  have  kissed  the  beast,  the 
prince,  freed  from  his  enchantment,  would  have 
stepped  forth.  Now,  all  is  too  late."  But,  as  she 
spoke  these  last  words  Eleanora's  gaze  had  become 
fixed  and  lighted.  "  Annetta ! "  she  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment. 

"Yes?  What  is  it?"  Mrs.  Fennamy  asked.  She 
rose  and  came  to  stand  beside  her  friend.  A  dark 
figure,  bent  beneath  a  wet  and  wind-buffeted  umbrella, 
was  slowly  approaching  down  the  street.  They 
watched  it. 

"  It  is  Ludwig,"  said  Signorina  Zardo.  She  turned 
314 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

to  look  into  her  friend's  eyes.  "  It  is  Ludwig,"  she 
repeated. 

Mrs.  Fennamy  had  faintly  coloured.  "  So  perhaps 
it  is  n't  all  too  late,"  she  said  gently. 

"  That  was  why  he  would  not  see  us,"  Eleanora 
murmured.  She  clasped  her  hands  on  her  breast. 
"  And  he  is  coming  now  to  put  all  to  the  test.  He  is 
coming  to  woo  her  himself."  She  caught  her  friend 
by  the  hand  and  drew  her  rapidly  away  from  the  win- 
dow. "  Quick,"  she  breathed.  "  Quick.  He  must 
not  find  us  here.  He  must  not  know  that  he  is  not 
alone." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

PERSIS  had  just  finished  dressing  when  she  was 
told  that  Herr  Wehlitz  was  waiting  for  her  be- 
low. It  was  eleven,  an  hour  later  than  their  usual 
time,  and  a  dark  presage  had  weighed  on  her  while 
she  slowly  moved  about  her  room.  She  had  expected 
that  he  would  not  come,  yet  to  have  the  hour  pass 
by  and  to  know  expectation  fulfilled,  had  been  like 
a  punishment  measured  out  drop  after  drop.  She 
thought  of  the  scene  of  yesterday  with  a  sick  self- 
disgust.  She  had  been  cruel  to  him,  and  she  deserved 
to  lose  him.  Yet  now,  when  she  knew  that  he  was 
waiting  for  her,  there  mingled  with  the  deep  relief — 
a  deep  weariness — with  herself,  rather  than  with  Lud- 
wig;  with  all  the  intricacy  of  the  baffling,  enmeshing 
situation.  And  worse  than  all,  a  dark  embarrassment 
surged  up  over  her,  suffocatingly,  as  she  went  down 
to  meet  him. 

His  appearance,  as  she  entered  the  little  sitting- 
room,  startled  her.  He  seemed  shrunken,  dusty;  he 
had  the  piteous  shrivelled  look  of  a  mummy,  some- 
thing measurelessly  old  and  helpless.  Even  the  fierce- 
ness of  his  eyes  seemed  extinguished;  they  were  like 
two  spots  of  bitumen  in  the  mummy's  face.  She  gave 

316 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

him  her  hand,  murmuring  "  Good-morning,"  and, 
without  speaking,  he  quickly  withdrew  it  and  turned 
away  from  her  to  the  table  where  their  books  were 
piled. 

She  came  and  stood  at  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
also  looking  down  at  the  books.  "Ludwig,  I  am  so 
sorry  about  yesterday,"  she  said,  while  the  hot  colour 
rose  in  her  cheeks.  "I  was  horrid  to  you;  I  don't 
know  why — I  must  have  been  sleepy.  I  am  often  ill- 
tempered  when  I  wake." 

For  a  moment  he  said  nothing,  ranging  the  books 
in  the  way  habitual  to  him;  then  in  a  dry  voice  he 
answered :  "  I  grant  you  my  forgiveness." 

She  was  disconcerted  by  this  reception  of  her  act 
of  penitence.  She  sat  down  and  drew  the  books  to- 
wards her.  Wehlitz  remained  standing.  "  Persis," 
he  said,  "we  have  come  to  a  crisis  in  our  relation' 
ship."  His  voice  was  curious;  an  automatic  voice; 
the  voice  of  the  mummy  galvanised  to  speak.  The 
sunken  eyes  fixed  on  her  filled  her  with  discomfort. 
"  Have  we  ?  "  she  murmured. 

"  A  crisis,"  Ludwig  repeated.  "  You  must  know 
it,  too.  It  racks  me.  There  was  pain  before  and  un- 
certainty; not  this  sinister  darkness.  It  must  end. 
And  I  have  come  this  morning  to  ask  you  whether 
you  have  for  me  another  answer  than  the  one  you 
sent  to  me,  now  six  weeks  ago,  by  Conrad." 

She  sat  there  amazed.     "Another  answer?" 

"Another  answer.  Will  you  marry  me?  Yes  or 
no?  I  ask  it  now  myself." 

317 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

She  had  risen  from  her  chair.  "  Why  do  you  ask 
me  that  now?  Like  this?" 

"  I  ask  you  because  I  must  know.  I  ask  you  be- 
cause we  must  dally  no  longer.  Do  you  love  me? 
Will  you  marry  me?"  He  was  trembling.  He 
rapped  with  his  knuckles  on  the  table  as  he  spoke. 

"  But  we  were  to  be  friends,  devoted  friends.  You 
accepted  my  answer.  You  agreed  to  what  I  offered 
then." 

Wildly,  violently,  raising  his  hand,  he  shook  the 
words  away.  "No — no — no.  It  is  not  what  I 
asked — what  I  ask.  My  wife — security — peace. 
Will  you  marry  me?  Yes  or  no.  I  send  no  deputy 
now  with  my  question." 

Only  some  desperate  determination  in  which  he 
tested  his  own  strength  had  carried  him  so  far.  He 
spoke  with  an  automatic  fierceness  in  which  was  no 
ardour  and  no  hope.  Persis  looked  away  from  him. 

"  I  cannot  marry  you,"  she  said  in  a  dull  voice. 

There  was  silence  for  some  moments.  After  the 
effort  with  which  he  had  launched  himself  upon  this 
final  venture  a  heavy  confusion  fell  upon  him.  She 
read  in  his  averted  face  and  fixed  eyes  the  sick  depths 
of  his  wounded  vanity.  His  demeanour  dismissed  a 
horrid  surmise.  He  had  not,  that  was  evident, 
guessed  at  her  secret  expectations  of  yesterday,  re- 
constructing, after  her  departure,  her  mysterious  be- 
haviour. No;  that  affront  had  not  been  offered, 
though  this  belated  proposal,  prompted,  it  seemed,  by 
hostility  rather  than  by  love,  was  almost  an  affront. 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

The  silence,  however,  continued,  and  she  began  to  feel 
pity  for  him.  "  I  am  so  sorry  that  there  should  have 
been  any  misunderstanding,  Ludwig,"  she  said.  "  I 
hope  that  it  need  not  harm  our  friendship.  I  am 
ready  to  go  on,  you  know,  as  your  true  friend." 

Still  he  did  not  speak,  picking  up  and  looking  at 
one  of  the  books.  "  A  true  friend,"  he  then  repeated  in 
a  dry  and  clipping  voice.  "  A  very  true  friend  indeed. 
I  ask  nothing  better  in  life  than  a  true  friend." 

His  manner  angered  her,  but  she  controlled  her  re- 
sentment. She  still  was  very  sorry  for  him.  "  Well, 
you  have  one.  Shall  we  begin?  I  have  been  study- 
ing every  day  since  your  illness." 

"  Ah !  I  am  proud  of  my  devoted  pupil."  He 
seated  himself  opposite  her,  and  turned  the  pages  of 
his  book.  "  You  have  finished  reading  this,  as  I  de- 
sired you  to  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  some  days  ago.  Here  are  my  notes." 
She  handed  him  the  sheaf. 

Wehlitz  appeared  to  peruse  them  with  close  atten- 
tion. "  Oh  yes,  I  see,"  he  murmured.  He  looked 
up  at  her.  "  And  these  studies  have  made  clear  to 
you  the  mathematical  certainties  underlying  my  doc- 
trine?" 

Her  eyes  met  his,  and  now,  indeed,  he  might  read 
something  like  fear  in  them.  By  some  deep  instinct 
of  his  writhing  vanity  he  had  leaped  to  his  most 
fundamental  self-assertion.  This  was  not  the  moment 
for  dispassionate  sincerity.  "  Which  doctrine  do  you 
mean  ?  "  she  asked  feebly,  temporising. 

319 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"Which  doctrine?  Can  you  ask?  The  Eternal 
Return  of  all  things.  Yes,  Persis,"  and  now,  at  last, 
his  eyes  rested  darkly  on  her  and  with  a  bitter  smile, 
"  again  and  again,  to  all  eternity,  you  and  I  shall  meet 
in  this  small,  dull  room,  and  to  all  eternity  you  will 
tell  me  that  you  cannot  marry  me.  It  is  a  sportive 
doctrine,  as  you  will  have  perceived;  a  doctrine  fitted 
to  give  good  cheer  and  breathe  a  stout  heart  into  us. 
And  I  laugh  back  at  it — scorn  for  scorn !  It  is  clear 
to  you,  I  ask,  that  necessity  ?  " 

No;  it  was  not  the  moment  for  dispassionate  sin- 
cerity; yet  was  it  the  moment  for  the  evasions  of  pity 
and  compunction?  "  What  seems  to  me  most  clear  is 
that  freedom,  not  necessity,  is  your  doctrine,"  she 
said.  "  They  can  be  reconciled,  I  am  sure." 

His  eyes  were  on  her,  fixed.  "  Reconciled  ?  I  do 
not  deal  in  paps  and  sops  and  reconciliations." 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me,"  she  murmured. 

He  had  become  very  pale.  "  Misunderstand  you  ? 
I  understand  you.  And  I  understand  why,  to-day, 
I  find  you  ashamed  to  meet  my  glance.  These  are 
Conrad's  thoughts,  not  yours." 

"Ludwig,  there  is  a  discrepancy  in  your  thought. 
You  say  that  I  am  your  comrade,  your  helper.  Let 
us  talk  frankly  together;  let  us  see,  together,  if  we 
cannot  make  your  real  meaning  clear." 

"My  comrade!  You!  You  are  my  enemy! 
These  are  Conrad's  words!  You  have  talked  of  this 
with  Conrad ! " 

"  I  tell  you  that  I  saw  the  discrepancy  for  myself.'* 
320 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

His  eyes  were  flaming  as  though  her  words  had 
held  a  torch  to  them.  "For  yourself!"  he  echoed, 
loudly  laughing.  "  A  woman  think  for  herself ! 
No,  no,  my  child!  You  are  steeped  in  Conrad's 
thought — finding  mine  too  cold  and  stormy!  You 
lave  yourself  in  Conrad's  tepid  waters;  they  are  com- 
forting, are  they  not? — soft,  scented  soap-suds!  The 
thought  of  a  mere,  poor,  truthful  philosopher  who 
deals  only  in  icy  sea-water  has  no  chance  against 
scented  soap-suds ! " 

She  looked  down,  flushed  and  sombre.  "  No  one 
sees  your  strength  so  clearly  as  Conrad.  He  has 
shown  it  to  me.  I  could  not  have  seen  it  for  myself — 
there  is  that  truth  in  what  you  say." 

"  He  has  shown  it  to  you !  I  am  obliged  to  him ! 
And  he  has,  with  the  strength,  shown  you  the  dis- 
crepancies— or,  no — those,  you  tell  me,  you  discov- 
ered for  yourself!  Ah!  he  interprets  me  to  you  and 
tells  you  that  my  necessity  is  freedom,  and  my  rigour 
love.  Tell  him  from  me  that  in  my  world  there  is  no 
place  for  the  double-faced,  no  place  for  weaklings  who 
dare  not  face  the  truth ! " 

A  faint  smile  now  flitted  on  her  face.  It  veiled 
the  nervous  tremor  with  which  his  violence  affected 
her,  but  it  revealed  her  scorn.  "  It  is  strange  that 
you  should  find  Conrad  weak.  He  seems  to  me  the 
strongest  person  I  have  known.  He  has  the  great- 
est strength;  the  strength  that  dares  love  weak- 
ness." 

"False!  False!  False!"  Wehlitz  cried,  almost 
321 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

sobbing,  beside  himself  with  grief  and  anger.  "  He 
is  a  hypocrite!  a  double-faced  hypocrite!  and  he  has 
stolen  you  from  me!  Strength!  Yes,  his  is  the  sly, 
writhing  strength  of  the  worm — the  plebeian  strength ! 
Faugh!  did  I  not  see  it  from  the  first  in  the  thick, 
coarse  features,  the  eyes  holding  the  mean  patience 
of  all  the  lowly  generations  that  have  gone  to  the 
making  of  him!  Yes,  Fraulein  Fennamy,  and  more 
still — since  we  are  speaking  plainly — let  me  tell  you 
my  further  thought  of  your  devotion  to  this  bour- 
geois. That  you  should  turn  to  him  shows  some 
mean  strain  of  blood  in  you!  It  is  like  to  like,  with 
your  hybrid  American  origins!  Eleanora  talks  much 
of  your  Irish  ancestry — your  proud,  Celtic  ancestry! 
Pah !  she  is  a  simpleton !  It  is,  I  could  swear  it,  from 
paltry  peasant  rebels  you  descend,  driven  from  their 
land  by  the  noble  race  that  dominates  and  rules  them ! 
No ! "  he  sobbed,  as  he  met  the  chill  scrutiny  of  her 
gaze  and  saw  its  cutting  glint  of  irony,  "  you  are  not 
the  aristocrat  I  believed  you  to  be ! " 

He  leaned,  then,  panting  on  the  table,  pushing  the 
books  aside  with  a  shaking  hand,  expecting,  it  was 
evident,  passionate  denial  and  protest  from  her. 
But  for  a  long  time  Persis  was  silent,  her  eyes  down- 
cast, her  fingers  playing  automatically  with  the  pen 
she  had  taken  up;  and  the  depth  and  finality  of  their 
alienation  was  borne  in  upon  the  desperate  and 
wretched  man  before  her  by  the  stillness  of  this  de- 
liberating pause.  If  she  felt  humiliation — was  this 
not  what  it  said? — it  was  because  of  her  friendship 

322 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

with  him,  because  of  her  intimacy  with  a  man  who 
could  stoop  to  such  smirching  littlenesses. 

She  said  at  last,  not  raising  her  eyes  to  him: 
"  The  mark  of  the  aristocrat,  you  always  said,  was 
fearlessness.  Is  n't  it  true  that  you  fear  the  weak 
and  lowly  because  you  feel  their  defects  in  yourself? 
Is  n't  it  true  that  you  turn  to  Conrad  for  the  same 
reason  that  I  do,  because  he  is  strong  where  we  are 
weak?" 

"  False !  False !  "  Wehlitz  wailed,  frantically  dart- 
ing from  his  chair.  "  It  is  a  lie :  and  your  tongue  is 
a  serpent's  tongue!  I  am  a  plebeian  and  a  weakling, 
then!  And  it  is  Conrad's  strength  to  care  for  me! 
I  understand  what  she  hisses — the  smiling  snake!  I 
understand  her  vengeance !  Yet  I  could  tell  you  tales 
of  Conrad!  No!  no! — I  do  not  stoop!  It  is  his 
homage — his  service  that  I  have  accepted — the  trib- 
ute of  the  low  to  the  high!  I  have  suffered  him! — 
I  suffer  him  no  longer!  My  hat!  Where  is  my 
hat?"  He  looked  around  with  a  wild  dazed  look. 

Persis  rose  and  gave  it  to  him.  She  felt,  as  she 
looked  into  his  ravaged  and  distorted  face,  a  blow  of 
pity.  ''  You  are  not  strong  enough  to  strike  your 
friends  from  you,"  she  said.  "  You  are  beside  your- 
self with  rancour." 

He  gave  a  strange,  high  laugh.  "Beside  myself! 
Mad!  Yes! — I  am  mad! — And  you  have  driven  me 
so ! "  And  casting  a  malignant  glance  upon  her  he 
darted  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

ALL  that  day  Persis  waited.  She  could  not  have 
said  what  she  was  waiting  for.  Everything 
was  over  and  she  did  not  know  whether  it  was  she 
who  had  destroyed  beauty,  who  shattered  a  treasure 
that  lay  within  her  hand  or  whether — the  horrid, 
ironic  intuition  came  again  and  again,  making  her 
sick — there  had  never  been  any  beauty  and  never  any 
treasure,  whether  it  had  all  been  a  mistake  not  even 
tragic.  Until  she  had  seen  Conrad  again,  and  had 
confessed  to  him  and  had  received  his  condemnation 
or  absolution  she  felt  that  the  chapter  was  not  closed. 
But  he  did  not  come.  Nor  did  Eleanora.  The  whole 
day  passed  and  no  one  came  to  the  Pension  Miiller. 
Persis  had  said  nothing  to  her  mother,  but  that  even^ 
ing,  when  they  went  up  to  dress  for  dinner,  she  asked 
her  if  she  was  not  ready  to  leave  Tannenkreuz.  "  I 
should  like  to  start  for  Paris,  directly,  mamma,  if  you 
do  not  mind." 

Mrs.  Fennamy  said  at  once  that  she  was  quite 
ready  to  go  and  that  Mrs.  Bartlett's  flat  was  waiting 
for  them,  as  Persis  knew.  They  could  leave  next 
day,  or  the  day  after.  There  was  only  the  packing 
to  be  done.  Persis  began  her  packing  that  evening 

324 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

after  dinner  and  by  bed-time  one  large  box  stood 
ready  and  there  was  only  the  small  one  to  finish. 

She  woke  next  morning  feeling  sure  that  a  letter 
must  come  to  her  from  Conrad.  But  the  post  brought 
only  a  long,  silly  screed  from  an  Italian  girl  whom  she 
had  met  the  year  before  in  Rome  and  whose  youthful 
dreams  of  independence  and  emancipation  she  had 
encouraged. 

She  lay  on,  looking  dully  out  at  her  room  with  its 
scattered  effects,  thinking  that  she  would  again  have 
her  breakfast  in  bed  so  that  she  need  not  face  her 
mother  over  the  shared  and  intimate  tray.  She  had 
decided  upon  this  when  she  heard  the  sound  of  weep- 
ing in  her  mother's  room.  A  moment's  attention  re- 
vealed the  grief  as  Eleanora's.  Persis  lay  listening 
with  a  faint,  stiff  smile.  Poor  Eleanora's  plaints  al- 
ways made  her  think  of  the  muffled  neighing  of  a 
horse  and  she  could  picture  her  walking  up  and  down 
and  pouring  them  out,  while  she  clutched  at  her  bodice 
with  both  hands.  After  a  little  while  they  ceased  and 
she  heard  Eleanora  go  away.  Shortly  after  this  her 
mother,  wrapped  in  her  dressing-gown,  came  into  her 
room.  "  I  just  came  to  tell  you  about  Eleanora," 
Mrs.  Fennamy  remarked,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  and  looking  round  the  room  rather  than  at  Per- 
sis. "  She  wanted  to  come  in  to  you,  but  I  said  I 
guessed  you  were  worn  out  over  the  whole  thing  and 
that  she  'd  better  go  away  just  now.  She  says  per- 
haps she  '11  come  to  Paris  with  us." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her?"  Persis  inquired. 
325 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  She  has  told  you,  I  suppose,  that  Ludwig  asked  me 
to  marry  him,  yesterday,  and  that  I  refused  him." 

"  Yes ;  she  told  me.  And  she  's  had  an  awful  night 
with  him.  Poor  fellow,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  added,  sur- 
prising her  daughter. 

"  And  you  blame  me,  too,  and  think  me  a  monster 
of  hard-heartedness  ?  "  Persis  remarked,  turning  on 
her  pillow.  But  Mrs.  Fennamy,  with  evident  sin- 
cerity, replied,  "  Why  no,  I  don't,  Persis.  I  don't 
see  that  you  are  to  be  blamed  any  more  than  he 
is." 

"  Well,  what  is  he  going  to  do  ?  "  Persis  asked  after 
a  moment.  "  Is  he  gone  away  already  ?  And  is 
Herr  Sachs  gone  with  him?" 

"  No,  not  yet.  But  he  's  going.  And  that 's  what 
makes  Eleanora  so  miserable.  It 's  parted  him  and 
Herr  Sachs.  He  won't  see  Herr  Sachs.  He  says 
he  '11  never  see  him  again.  And  he  won't  let  any 
one  come  with  him  or  tell  Eleanora,  even,  where  he  is 
going." 

"He  won't  see  Herr  Sachs?" 

"  He  sent  down  word  to  him  twice  last  night  that 
he  would  n't  see  him.  Herr  Sachs  is  dreadfully  up- 
set, of  course." 

Persis  lay  reflecting.  Suddenly  she  sat  up  and 
threw  the  clothes  aside  and  put  her  feet  to  the 
floor. 

"Well,  Persis?"  Mrs.  Fennamy  inquired,  eyeing 
her.  "Aren't  you  going  to  have  your  breakfast  in 
bed?" 

326 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  No.     I  shall  get  up.     I  must  see  him." 

"See  him?     Herr  Wehlitz?" 

"  No.     Herr  Sachs." 

She  had  pressed  her  ringer  to  the  bell. 

"  I  would  n't  do  that  if  I  were  you,  Persis,"  said 
Mrs.  Fennamy  after  a  moment.  "  If  Herr  Wehlitz 
hears  about  it  it  will  make  him  feel  worse  than  ever 
about  Herr  Sachs,  and  what  one  hopes  is  that  he  '11 
make  it  up  with  him  after  a  little  while." 

"  I  cannot  help  what  Ludwig  hears  or  thinks.  I 
must  see  Conrad." 

The  maid  had  come.  Persis  ordered  her  bath  and 
her  breakfast. 

Mrs.  Fennamy  looked  at  her  for  a  few  moments 
longer  and  then  went  away  into  her  room.  Half  an 
hour  later  she  heard  Persis  go  downstairs. 

After  the  day  and  night  of  heavy  wind  and  rain, 
it  was  a  high,  chill,  boisterous  and  sunny  day.  The 
air  was  full  of  fluttering  golden  leaves  and  the  streets 
of  the  little  town  seemed  freshly  set  out  for  some 
charming  drama.  A  woman  at  a  corner  was  selling 
roses  from  a  large  basket.  "  Good  luck  go  with  you, 
Fraulein,"  she  said  as  Persis  passed  and  her  maternal 
smile  was  so  winning  that,  moved  by  a  half  super- 
stitious impulse,  Persis  stopped  and  bought  a  bunch 
of  the  crisp,  red  flowers.  Her  mind,  as  she  hurried 
on,  holding  them  to  her  face,  was  filled  with  dissolving 
pictures.  Ludwig  had  failed  her,  and  he  had  failed 
Conrad.  He  had  cast  them  both  aside,  and  if  in 
much  the  fault  was  hers  in  this  it  was  not  so;  and 

327 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Conrad  was  faultless.  Conrad  would  forgive  her  if 
she  had  been  cruel,  and  he  would  come  with  them. 
They  would  study  together.  She  saw  a  table  piled 
with  books  over  which  they  bent,  snowy  Paris  outside. 
He  would  teach  her.  He  would  understand  and  sus- 
tain her.  Yet  under  the  vision  which  the  fragrance 
of  the  roses  seemed  to  evoke  lay  a  heaviness  of  heart 
that  felt  like  guilt. 

Sachs  had  gone  out.  She  reflected,  standing  at  the 
door,  and  then  said  to  the  landlady  that  she  would  go 
up  and  leave  a  note  for  him.  In  his  room  she  looked 
about  her  with  her  intent,  impersonal  gaze;  a  poor, 
bleak,  student's  room,  a  badly  made  bed  in  one  corner, 
a  chest  of  drawers  with  a  cracked  mirror  upon  it  in 
another,  a  stove  and  a  flimsy  table  piled  with  books 
and  papers.  The  outer  garments  of  Sachs's  scant 
wardrobe  hung  against  the  door. 

Persis  found  a  piece  of  note  paper  and,  leaning 
over  the  table,  wrote :  "  I  beg  of  you  to  come  at 
once.  I  must  see  you."  She  folded  the  paper  and 
laid  the  bunch  of  roses  upon  it.  Then  she  went  back 
to  the  pension. 

She  could  not  now  go  on  with  her  packing.  She 
told  her  mother  that  she  expected  Herr  Sachs  and 
that  they  would  leave  next  day.  The  morning  passed 
in  a  tension  of  eagerness  so  great  she  felt  it  as  a  tor- 
por, a  strange  drowsiness,  like  the  mist  made  by  a 
dragon-fly's  wings,  beating  with  inconceivable  rapidity. 
Her  heart  seemed  to  drowze  and  droop  and  ache  with 
anxiety. 

328 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Sachs's  answer  did  not  come  till  after  luncheon  and 
it  was  brought  to  her  in  the  garden  where  she  was 
sitting  with  her  mother  over  coffee  in  a  nook  of 
bright  sunlight.  Her  ringers  shook  as  she  opened 
it.  "  Gnadiges  Fraulein"  it  ran,  "  I  can  not  come. 
I  am  in  great  trouble  and  I  am  leaving  Tannenkreuz. 
I  thank  you  from  my  heart  for  all  your  kindness  to 
me." 

Over  the  letter  Persis  gazed,  meeting  her  mother's 
eyes.  She  had  become  very  pale. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  ?  "  Mrs.  Fennamy  asked 
presently. 

Persis  rose  and  stood  looking  before  her  into  the 
garden.  She  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  question,  but 
after  a  moment  she  laughed  and  said :  "  No,  noth- 
ing is  the  matter.  I  shall  not  see  Herr  Sachs  again, 
either,  that  is  all."  After  another  moment  she  added. 
"  I  must  finish  my  packing." 

She  went  up  the  steps  into  the  salon  and  passed 
their  sitting-room,  its  door  ajar,  so  that  she  could  see 
the  sofa  where  she  had  sat  with  Conrad;  the  books 
upon  the  table.  She  had  forgotten  the  books;  they 
must  be  packed.  She  went  in  to  gather  them  up, 
but  they  slid  from  her  arms.  No;  there  were  too 
many  of  them ;  and  she  would  not  now  go  on  with  her 
packing.  Strange  little  stage,  where  so  much  had 
happened! — and  all  was  over  now,  the  actors  van- 
ished like  wraiths.  She  stood  looking  about  it  for  a 
moment  longer  and  then  went  upstairs. 

In  her  own  room,  she  went  to  the  window  and 
329 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

looked  out.  She  could  see  her  mother  sitting  below 
there  on  the  warm  flags  near  the  house.  She  had 
ceased  to  drink  her  coffee  and  was  sitting  still,  gazing 
before  her.  She  was  anxious,  no  doubt,  and  yet  how 
little  she  could  guess  at  what  was  worse  than  sorrow 
in  this  closing  scene  of  the  autumn  at  Tannenkreuz. 
The  Lombardy  poplars  were  shaking  through  all  their 
height  as  if  with  an  angry  menace.  They  made  her 
think  of  a  cemetery  she  had  seen  in  Italy,  a  hideous 
place,  decked  out  in  bead  wreathes.  "  That  is  where 
it  all  ends,"  she  thought ;  "  in  the  bead  wreathes." 
She  turned  from  the  window  and  sank  down  on  a 
little  chair  placed  against  the  wall  and  her  eyes  now 
fixed  themselves  on  an  old-fashioned  print  framed 
in  a  rustic  frame  that  hung  over  the  bed.  It  repre- 
sented a  German  Mddchen,  with  hair  dressed  in  a 
chignon  and  the  ruffled,  tightly  fitting  bodice  of  the 
'seventies,  leaning  from  a  rose-wreathed  window  to 
kiss  a  moustached  youth.  Persis  felt  that  she  had  not 
really  seen  this  picture  before.  She  examined  it  care- 
fully, her  head  leaning  back  against  the  wall,  her  hands 
lying,  palm  upward,  in  her  lap.  The  girl  was  a  girl 
of  her  own  age,  but  very  portly;  she  wore  a  necklace 
and  a  bracelet  and  a  rose  behind  her  ear,  and  her  eye- 
lashes and  her  bust  were  romantically  emphasized. 
Lovers ;  they  were  lovers ;  and  what  would  such  a  cou- 
ple be  like  to-day,  such  a  romantic  German  couple? 
She  saw  them ;  a  stout  matron  with  heavy  chin  and  hard 
appraising  eye;  a  paunched,  glazed  citizen;  she  saw 
their  home,  its  hideous  comforts ;  she  saw  the  brood  of 

330 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

children.  And  all  to  end  in  the  bead-wreaths.  Her 
eyes  dropped  then  to  Sachs's  note,  lying  in  her  lap. 
He  left  her.  She  was  alone  in  this  world,  hateful 
and  ridiculous.  He,  too,  like  Ludwig,  like  herself, 
was  hateful  and  ridiculous. 

The  nightmares  of  the  last  weeks,  those  nightmares 
that  he  had  dispelled,  surged  up  over  her,  no  longer 
definite  but  only  the  more  horrible  for  their  suffocat- 
ing formlessness,  thick,  black,  wave  upon  wave,  cloud 
upon  cloud,  all  Ludwig's  eternity  of  dread,  immense 
black  clouds  of  horror  like  tidal  waves,  towering  and 
shutting  out  the  sky.  She  was  alone  and  her  barrier 
against  the  wilderness  was  gone.  A  vast  emptiness 
seemed  to  engulf  her. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  She  heard  it  as  if 
from  far  away.  The  maid,  in  answer  to  her  mut- 
tered assent,  came  in  and  told  her  that  Graf  von 
Ludenstein  was  below  and  had  asked  to  see  her. 
Persis  looked  at  the  girl  for  a  moment.  Her  mind 
seemed  to  swing  in  the  void.  She  said  that  she  would 
see  the  Herr  Graf. 

When  the  girl  had  gone  she  rose  and  stood  still  in 
the  middle  of  the  room.  Her  body  felt  curiously 
light,  as  though  the  dark  agony  had  condensed  in 
vapour  and  bore  her  up.  It  was  relief,  a  wild  relief 
that  mounted  in  her  and  was  it  not  almost  joy?  She 
sped  downstairs  and  felt  that  she  was  outracing  some- 
thing. She  entered  the  little  sitting-room  almost  with 
the  impetus  of  a  long-imprisoned  gaiety  released. 
Liidenstein's  face  showed  its  surprise. 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  have 
spent  such  a  morning  of  boredom."  She  hardly  knew 
what  the  words  were  that  came  to  her  lips. 

Liidenstein  examined  her.  "  You  and  Ludwig 
have  parted,  I  hear,"  he  said,  and  he  spoke  gravely. 

She  crossed  the  room  and  sank  down  on  the  sofa, 
and  looking  up  at  him,  smiling,  she  nodded  and  said: 
"  Yes,  we  have  parted." 

Stroking  his  beard,  he  stood  before  her,  silent. 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No;  his  door  is  closed  to  me.  He  will  not  see 
me,"  said  Liidenstein.  "  Ah.  So  you  have  sent  him 
away.  Poor  Ludwig;  he  will  be  suffering." 

"  I  have  not  sent  him  away,"  said  Persis  laughing. 
"  He  has  gone.  It  is  always  Ludwig's  sufferings  that 
you  all  think  of.  No  one  can  give  a  thought  to 
mine." 

"  But  you  are  not  suffering,"  said  Liidenstein,  still 
with  his  gravity.  "  No,  no ;  a  marble  nymph  cannot 
suffer,  not  even  when  unfortunate  men  of  flesh  and 
blood  dash  themselves  to  pieces  against  her." 

"  Can  she  not  ?  "  she  answered,  faintly  smiling. 

He  drew  nearer,  leaning  against  the  table  with 
folded  arms,  looking  down  at  her,  and  it  was  in  a 
changed  voice  that  he  said  presently,  "  Are  you  suffer- 
ing, Fraulein  Persis  ?  " 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  reply.  The  sting  of 
tears  mounted  to  her  eyes.  How  little  he  understood 
her.  Only  Conrad  understood,  and  he  had  left  her. 
"  I  am  bored,"  she  said,  speaking  in  the  childish,  sullen 

332 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

voice,  her  eyes  downcast  so  that  he  should  not  see 
the  tears. 

Again  there  was  a  little  silence.  Liidenstein  stood 
above  her,  looking  at  her,  and  she  continued  to  stare 
down  at  the  carpet. 

"  Aux  grands  maux  grands  remedes"  he  said  at 
last.  "  We  must  find  some  remedy  for  your  bore- 
dom, Fraulein." 

"  It  will  be  difficult  to  find." 

"You  seek  it?" 

"  We  are  leaving  Tannenkreuz  to-morrow  for 
Paris,"  she  replied.  "  Had  you  not  heard  ?  " 

"  Ah.  You  are  going  to  Paris  ?  No ;  I  had  not 
heard."  He  stroked  his  beard.  "  I,  too,  then,  shall 
leave  Tannenkreuz.  But  why  not  sooner?  Why  not 
to-night,  indeed  ?  And  why  to  Paris  ?  " 

She  had  the  impression,  horrible,  yet  delicious,  of 
his  strength,  his  strange,  alien  strength,  that  could 
pause  and  take  its  measures  and  make  its  implications 
and  risk  nothing  through  importunity.  He  might  be 
saying  everything;  he  might  be  saying  nothing;  but 
the  apple  hung  there  and  she  was  the  Eve  again,  the 
Eve,  guilty  already  in  her  delay  beside  the  tree.  In 
a  darkened  and  gorgeous  world,  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  the  apple. 

"Why  indeed?"  She  had  now  lifted  her  eyes  to 
his  and  she  dimly  and  ironically  smiled.  "  Had  you 
intended  to  follow  us?  " 

"  Yes.  I  had  intended  to  follow  you,"  said  Liiden- 
stein ;  "  when  you  went.  But  do  not  let  it  be  Paris. 

333 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Paris  is  not  a  place  for  great  remedies — a  vulgar, 
flaunting  town.  Why  not  wide,  far  travel?  Egypt? 
Egypt  and  the  Nile?  You  have  never  been  to 
Egypt?" 

"  I  think  of  the  Nile  as  the  symbol  of  monotony. 
It  would  be  as  bad  as  Tannenkreuz." 

"  Sicily,  then  ?  "  said  Ludenstein.  "  A  ride  through 
Sicily.  You  ride  ?  " 

"Yes.     I  am  fond  of  riding." 

"And  you  have  not  seen  Sicily?" 

"No.  We  have  never  yet  gone  to  Sicily.  I  do 
not  like  discomfort  of  any  sort.  It  is  a  difficult  coun- 
try to  travel  in  with  comfort  I  have  heard,  once  one 
has  left  the  beaten  track." 

"  That  depends  on  how  one  travels.  With  escorts, 
servants,  money  freely  spent,  one  can  find  comfort 
in  very  nearly  every  country.  Sicily;  yes;  one  could 
go  south  to  Italy  to-night  and  be  in  Sicily  within  two 
days." 

She  sat  silent.  She  had,  in  the  silence,  a  sensation 
of  speed,  of  flight,  as  though,  though  they  were  so 
still,  she  were  an  Europa  borne  away  among  the 
waters.  Horror  and  delight  rang  through  her.  The 
horror  was  not  of  him.  Curiously,  she  felt  no  touch 
of  fear  of  him;  they  were  equals;  she,  a  woman, 
choosing  her  fate.  She  said  at  last.  "  I  must 
think." 

"But  not  alone,  then,"  said  Ludenstein.  He  be- 
trayed no  quiver  of  triumph.  He  did  not  stir. 
"  You  will  think  with  me ;  and  not  here." 

334 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Where  then  ?  "  They  spoke  in  lowered  voices ; 
it  was  the  only  symptom  of  their  state. 

"  It  is  a  fine  afternoon.  Let  us  go  up  to  the  woods 
where  we  may  deliberate  with  no  fear  of  interrup- 
tion." He  added,  "  From  the  woods  the  way  is  short- 
est to  the  station — and  one  would  be  unobserved. 
The  train  does  not  go  till  5.15." 

She  sat  on  for  a  moment  longer,  looking  now  not 
at  him  but  about  the  room.  Then  she  rose  and  stood 
before  him.  He  took  off  his  glasses  and  she  found 
herself  gazing  into  his  strangely  bared  eyes.  She 
did  not  fear  him.  She  smiled  at  him,  with  still  the 
touch  of  irony,  as  though  she  mocked  him  and  herself. 
"  Let  us  go  to  the  woods,"  she  said. 

"Brave — beautiful;"  Ludenstein  murmured.  He 
seemed  nearer  to  her  than  if  he  had  taken  her  in  his 
arms. 

She  smiled  on ;  "  You  do  not  know  what  I  am. 
We  are  going  to  deliberate.  We  are  going  to 
think." 

"  We  are  going  to  think,"  said  Ludenstein. 
"  Paris,  boredom ;  or  the  magic  carpet,  spread  at  your 
feet.  Once  you  step  upon  it  you  will  only  need  to 
wish  and  the  wish  will  be  accomplished."  He  looked 
at  her,  his  eyes  still  bared,  and  said:  "I  love  you/"* 

She  turned  from  him  then,  murmuring  that  she 
must  get  her  hat  and  cloak.  Fear  had  crossed  her; 
but,  swiftly  mounting  to  her  room  she  beat  it  back 
and  told  herself  that  now,  in  her  own  life,  she  was  to 
enact  Lud wig's  doctrine  of  freedom  and  peril  and 

335 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

scorn  of  the  world's  standards;  the  gulfs  of  loneliness 
were  behind  her  and  great  ranges  of  wild  beauty  stood 
against  the  sky. 

As  she  left  her  room,  her  hat  tied  under  her  chin, 
her  cloak  wrapped  round  her,  her  mother  came  up  the 
stairs. 

A  singular  hardness  turned  Persis  to  smiling,  in- 
scrutable stone.  She  stood  still,  gazing  at  her  mother 
and  knowing  in  herself  powers  of  dissimulation  till 
then  inconceivable.  If  she  hesitated,  if  she  wavered, 
she  was  lost.  She  stood  there  on  her  precipice  path, 
knit  to  the  one  resolve;  a  glance,  a  thought  aside, 
and  she  would  be  dashed  down,  to  what  depths  of 
helplessness,  shame  and  abasement!  She  saw  the 
vision  in  a  flash — it  made  her  giddy ; — she  might  cast 
herself  weeping  on  her  mother's  breast. 

"  I  am  going  for  a  little  walk  with  Graf  von  Luden- 
stein,"  she  said.  She  heard  the  word  "  little  "  rever- 
berate. A  false  step.  She  stiffened  her  lips  to  a 
firmer  smile. 

It  was,  apparently,  with  mere  mildness  that  her 
mother  looked  at  her.  "  Are  you  going  to  the  woods  ? 
They  '11  be  pretty  wet,  I  expect,"  she  remarked. 

"After  all  this  sun  and  wind?  Oh,  no;  it  will  be 
delicious  there."  Delicious,  too,  was  strangely  ar- 
tificial. She  felt  as  if  she  were  speaking  through 
the  marble  lips  of  some  sinister  mask. 

Mrs.  Fennamy  now  glanced  down  over  the  ban- 
nisters into  the  well  of  the  staircase. 

"  I  should  think  you  'd  better  stay  and  do  your 
336 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

packing,"  she  remarked.  "  You  '11  get  all  tired  out 
walking  around  the  woods." 

"  I  can  pack  after  dinner." 

"  Oh,  are  you  going  to  stay  out  till  dinner-time  ?  " 

This,  in  her  mother,  was  an  unaccustomed  persis- 
tence and  Persis  felt  a  shield  in  the  touch  of  irritation 
it  caused  her.  "  I  may  stay  out  till  then,"  she  said. 

Her  mother  continued  to  look  over  the  bannisters, 
rather  as  if  she  expected  to  see  Graf  von  Liidenstein 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  now,  yet  more  uncharac- 
teristically, she  went  on :  "I  should  think  you  'd 
rather  stay  in  and  have  him  play  to  you.  His  playing 
is  the  best  thing  about  him." 

"  The  best  thing  about  him  is  that  he  amuses  me," 
said  Persis.  "  And  I  am  very  much  in  need  of  amuse- 
ment to-day."  She  went  by  her  mother  and  began 
to  go  down  the  stairs.  She  had  gone  half  down  the 
first  flight  when  she  heard  her  mother's  voice  again. 
"  Persis,"  it  said. 

She  looked  up.  The  placid  little  wax-doll  face  was 
still  bent  over  the  staircase  and,  dimly  fair  against  the 
shadowed  ceiling  that  was  its  background,  it  looked 
down  at  her. 

Persis  paused.  "  It 's  sure  to  be  wet  in  the  woods," 
said  Mrs.  Fennamy,  "  and  if  you  're  going  to  be  wan- 
dering around  till  dinner-time  you  '11  catch  cold. 
Wait  a  moment  I  '11  get  your  rubbers  for  you." 

Helplessly,  and  ready  to  break  into  sobs  of  des- 
peration, Persis  waited  until  she  reappeared  carrying 
the  galoshes.  She  took  them  from  her  without  speak- 

337 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ing.  She  was  trembling  and  she  feared  now  that  her 
mother  must  surely  read  some  strangeness  in  her 
demeanour.  But,  as  if  satisfied  that  all  was  well, 
Mrs.  Fennamy  remounted  the  stairs  and  went  into 
her  own  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

HALF-AN-HOUR  later  Sachs,  piling  his  books 
and  clothes  into  a  flat,  battered  little  box, 
heard  the  jingle  and  cracking  of  one  of  the  Tannen- 
kreuz  carriages  outside  his  rooms  and,  as  he  looked 
out,  his  eyes,  to  his  infinite  astonishment,  met  those 
of  Mrs.  Fennamy  lifted  to  him  from  below.  Mrs. 
Fennamy,  her  black  lace  bonnet  tied  beneath  her  chin, 
her  black  lace  parasol  in  her  hand,  looked  the  picture 
of  composure;  yet  the  young  man  knew  at  once  that 
her  appearance  here  was  abnormal.  "  Can  I  speak  to 
you  for  a  moment  ?  "  she  said. 

Sachs  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  He  hastily  dragged 
on  his  coat,  took  his  hat  and  went  down  to  her. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  for  a  drive  with  me,  Herr 
Sachs,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy,  looking  at  him  with  some 
intentness.  "  I  expect  you  're  very  busy,  but  I  Ve  a 
special  reason  for  interrupting  you.  It 's  about  Per- 
sis.  I  can  tell  you  while  we  drive." 

"About  Fraulein  Persis,  gnddige  Frau"  Sachs 
faltered,  looking  at  her  with  anxiety.  "  Can  you  tell 
me  here,  then,  perhaps?  I  am  in  the  midst  of  my 
packing;  I  expect  to  leave  Tannenkreuz  to-night  or— - 
it  depends  on  Ludwig — to-morrow.  I  have  not  seen 

339 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

him  and  when  I  have  packed  I  must  go  in  search  of 
him.  He  is  not  at  his  hotel." 

"  We  're  all  in  the  midst  of  packing,  Herr  Sachs," 
said  Mrs.  Fennamy ;  "  and  we  're  all  leaving  Tannen- 
kreuz  to-night  or  to-morrow.  But  you  're  fond  of 
Persis,  are  n't  you?  you  'd  be  sorry  if  anything  was  to 
happen  to  her  ?  " 

"Fond?  Of  Fraulein  Persis?  Yes;  yes;  very 
fond  indeed.  It  has  grieved  me  to  think  that  the  time 
for  parting  has  come "  Sachs  spoke  confusedly. 

"  It  has  come,  I  guess ;  you  need  n't  worry  over 
that,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy,  with  a  dim  smile  not  unlike 
her  daughter's;  "  if  that  is  what  worries  you.  I  know 
you  Ve  said  good-bye  and  that  you  feel  it 's  better  not 
to  see  her  again ;  and  I  think  you  're  right/'  She 
went  on  in  an  unchanged  voice :  "  I  've  an  idea  that 
Persis  is  going  to  run  away  with  Graf  von  Liidenstein 
this  evening,  and  I  thought  perhaps  you  could  help 
me  to  prevent  it." 

Sachs  and  she  now  looked  at  each  other  very  in- 
tently indeed,  and,  for  some  moments,  without  speak- 
ing. "  You  see,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  went  on,  "  you 
wouldn't  come  to  see  her,  so  I  suppose  she  felt  des- 
perate." 

Sachs  had  grown  very  pale,  but  he  did  not  speak, 
either  in  protest  or  consolation.  He  stepped  into  the 
carriage,  and,  Mrs.  Fennamy,  ordering  the  boy  to 
drive  up  to  the  pine-woods,  they  clattered  down  the 
street. 

"  Persis  has  been  very  much  upset  over  this  affair 
340 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

with  Herr  Wehlitz,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  continued;  "more 
upset  than  she  knows ;  and  she  's  very  young,  and  I 
expect  she  feels  that  everything  is  over.  From  the 
way  she  looked  this  afternoon  when  she  said  she  was 
going  to  have  a  walk  in  the  woods  with  Graf  von 
Ludenstein,  I  felt  sure  that  she  did  n't  intend  to  come 
back.  Well,  I  know  you  are  a  good  man,  Herr  Sachs, 
and  like  to  help  people,  so  I  thought  you  'd  help 
me.  Persis  cares  for  your  opinion.  You're  the 
only  person  I  know  who  has  any  influence  over 
her." 

Sachs  sat,  a  hand  on  each  knee,  his  face  set  and 
curiously  divested  of  all  its  comicality.  "  Do  you  not 
think  that  you,  perhaps,  imagine  this,  gnddige  Frau?  " 
he  said.  "  Fraulein  Persis  is  not  in  love  with  Graf 
von  Ludenstein." 

"  I  know  she  is  n't.  But  he  's  in  love  with  her. 
And  she 's  desperate.  When  young  people  get  des- 
perate they  can  do  dreadful  things,  Herr  Sachs.  I  'm 
not  standing  up  for  Persis.  I  expect  she 's  pretty 
bad.  But  I  know  the  way  she  feels.  She  feels  that 
everybody  is  giving  her  up  and  that  she  may  as  well 
give  herself  up.  She  just  wants  to  try  wicked- 
ness." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Sachs  assented,  nodding.  "  I  under- 
stand that,  gnddige  Frau,  I  understand  that.  Do  not 
think  that  I  am  condemning  the  unhappy  young  Frau- 
lein. No;  and  I  have  been  to  blame.  I  should  not 
have  refused  to  see  her  again.  I  was  thinking  of 
Ludwig.  I  am  troubled  about  him,  gnddige  Frau; 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

very  much  troubled.     If  the  Fraulein  is  unhappy,  he 
is  indeed  far  more  so." 

They  had  by  now  left  the  town  and  were  on  the 
broad  road  that  led  to  the  pine-woods.  Neither  Mrs. 
Fennamy  nor  Sachs  spoke  for  a  little  while.  The 
young  man  sat  motionless,  his  eyes  fixed  before  him; 
Mrs.  Fennamy  could  hear  him  repeatedly  swallowing, 
as  if  with  effort,  and,  glancing  at  him,  she  saw  that 
his  lips  twitched  and  trembled  with  the  effort  to 
repress  tears. 

"  And  what  is  your  plan,  gnddige  Frauf  "  he  asked 
at  last  in  a  gentle  voice. 

Mrs.  Fennamy  also  spoke  with  a  certain  effort,  but 
her  plans  were  evidently  all  in  readiness.  "  You 
know  there  are  three  ways  out  of  the  woods,"  she 
said ;  "  I  saw  them  go  up  one  through  the  vineyards. 
The  other  leads  straight  on  to  the  station  and  the 
third  comes  out  on  to  this  road.  I  thought  when  we 
got  up  to  the  pines  you  could  take  the  path  that  leads 
from  here  across  the  fields  into  the  lower  woods,  and 
I  'd  wait  for  you,  and  if  you  did  n't  come  back  I  'd 
know  you  'd  found  her  and  were  taking  her  home  by 
the  vineyard  path.  It  would  be  very  humiliating  for 
her,  would  n't  it,  if  I  were  to  spring  out  upon  them 
and  separate  them?  But  you  might  have  been  up 
there  for  a  walk,  thinking  things  over;  it  might  look 
quite  natural." 

Sachs  listened  attentively  and  nodded.  "  I  could 
have  gone  up  to  look  for  Ludwig.  I  had  indeed 
thought  of  looking  for  him  in  the  woods." 

342 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"You  may  find  them  all  up  there  together,"  Mrs. 
Fennamy  suggested.  "  I  hope  no  one  will  be  vio- 
lent." 

"  And  if  I  do  not  find  them,  gnddige  Frauf  "  Sachs 
inquired. 

"  They  'd  be  on  the  path  to  the  station  then,"  said 
Mrs.  Fennamy,  "  and  we  'd  drive  straight  off  to  the 
station.  There  are  lots  of  trains  they  might  take;  it 
would  depend  upon  where  he  was  taking  her.  But 
we  might  get  there  in  time.  He  won't  bring  her  down 
this  road,  I  'm  sure.  But  if  he  does  they  '11  meet 
me." 

She  spoke  composedly,  if  with  a  slight  steadying 
of  her  tones.  Sachs's  face  suddenly  contracted.  He 
looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  cry.  "And  then, 
gnddige  Frauf"  he  inquired  in  a  trembling  voice. 
"  And  then  ?  Should  we  follow  them  ?  Could  you 
go  alone?  My  difficulty  is  that  there  is  also  Ludwig 
to  be  thought  of.  I  fear  for  Ludwig;  I  greatly  fear 
for  him.  How  am  I  to  leave  him  ?  " 

"  You  mean  you  're  afraid  he  '11  commit  suicide  ?  " 
Mrs.  Fennamy  asked. 

"Yes,  that — and  more.  I  fear  for  his  mind," 
Sachs  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  touching  his  forehead  with 
his  forefinger.  "  He  has  had  too  much  to  bear." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy  after  a  moment. 
"  Well,  you  can  come  to  the  station  with  me  if  you 
don't  find  them.  And  if  they  're  gone  I  '11  follow 
them  alone."  And  after  a  moment's  pause,  she  asked 
suddenly :  "  He  's  not  a  cruel  man,  is  he  ?  " 

343 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Sachs's  face  still  quivered.  "  Liidenstein,  gn'ddige 
Frau?  He  can  be  kind.  And  she  has  power  over 
him." 

"Is  he  very  bad?" 

Sachs  for  a  moment  was  silent,  and  the  mother's 
little  face,  turned  to  him,  showed  a  slight  greyness,  a 
pinching  of  the  lips,  as  though  some  crumbling  frost 
had  aged  it.  "  He  is  a  man  with  taste,  gn'ddige  Frau," 
Sachs  replied  at  last,  bending  down  his  eyes.  "  And 
she  has  power.  He  may  shatter  her,  but  he  will  not 
corrupt  her." 

Now  they  drove  on  in  silence.  They  had  reached 
the  pine-woods,  the  steep  escarpment  of  the  bank  on 
one  hand,  and  on  the  other  the  fall  to  the  lower  woods. 
Gusts  of  strong  fragrance  were  blown  upon  them. 
The  narrow  slip  of  sky  above  was  tossed  with  hurry- 
ing white  upon  deep  blue.  Mrs.  Fennamy  suddenly 
motioned  to  the  boy,  and  he  drew  up  beside  a  little 
path  that  ran  into  the  pines.  "  Here,"  she  said.  "  It 
leads  out  over  the  fields  and  brings  you  to  the  beeches." 

Sachs  got  out. 

"  I  '11  wait  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy.  "  Don't 
let  her  know  that  I  suspected  her  if  you  find  her." 
She  leaned  from  the  side  of  the  carriage  to  press  his 
hand.  The  young  man  grasped  it  tightly,  and  they 
looked  into  each  other's  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

SACHS  limped  swiftly  through  the  pine-woods  and 
out  into  the  fields  where  the  clouds  cast  long, 
speeding  shadows.  He  recognized,  lying  beyond  the 
fields,  the  contour  of  the  beech-woods.  Ludwig  had 
brought  him  once  to  his  beloved  spot,  the  little  clear- 
ing, with  its  bank  and  high  trees,  and  in  ten  minutes 
he  reached  the  path  that  led  there.  Bushes  here  grew 
thickly,  and  he  went  more  slowly,  not  certain  of  his 
way;  but  he  saw,  presently,  the  open,  sunny  space 
glimmering  before  him,  and  then  he  heard  the  sound 
of  voices.  A  few  steps  further,  and  he  saw  them. 

They  stood  in  the  dappled  shade  of  the  tall  trees, 
and  she  was  in  his  arms.  Not  reluctant;  no;  that 
was  evident,  as,  steadying  himself  on  his  crutch  for 
a  moment,  Sachs  stood  still  to  look.  Not  reluctant, 
yet,  in  the  rigidity  of  her  figure,  her  arms  straightly 
falling  at  her  sides,  her  head  pressed  by  his  hand,  not 
bent,  against  his  shoulder,  there  was  determination 
rathev  than  yielding.  Ludenstein  was  speaking  in 
low,  passionate  tones. 

Sachs  put  aside  the  last  bushes  and  came  for- 
ward. 

When  he  looked  at  them  again  they  had  parted,  and 
stood  staring  at  him.  Ludenstein  was  flushed.  The 

345 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

face  of  Persis  seemed  in  its  pallor  like  a  still,  uncanny 
light.  After  his  glance  at  it,  Sachs  turned  his  eyes 
away. 

Liidenstein  was  the  first  to  recover  himself.  "  Well, 
Herr  Sachs,  and  what  do  you  do  here  ?  "  he  asked. 
His  flushed  forehead  and  narrowed  eyes  showed  his 
anger,  but  he  spoke  in  a  tone  of  contemptuous  dis- 
pleasure rather  than  with  any  menace  or  violence. 

"  I  came  to  look  for  Ludwig,"  said  Sachs.  "  I  have 
been  looking  for  him." 

"  Ah.  So.  Indeed."  Liidenstein  was  evidently 
taken  aback.  He  glanced  sharply  at  Persis,  with  a 
curious  transformation  of  his  usual  sleepy  gaze. 
"  He  is  not  here,  you  see." 

"  No,  I  see  that  he  is  not." 

"  That  being  the  case,"  Ludenstein  continued,  "  you 
will  perhaps  be  kind  enough  to  continue  your  re- 
searches further  afield  and  leave  Fraulein  Fennamy 
and  me  to  our  conversation." 

There  was  a  slight  pause.  Sacks  stood  looking 
down  and  screwing  the  point  of  his  crutch  into  the 
soft  carpet  of  fallen  leaves. 

"  No,"  he  then  said ;  "  since  you  have  not  seen  him, 
it  is  not  probable  that  he  is  in  the  woods.  I  shall  re- 
turn to  Tannenkreuz."  At  last  he  raised  his  eyes  to 
Persis.  "  Will  you  come  with  me,  Fraulein  Fen- 
namy ?  " 

While  they  spoke  Persis  had  not  stirred.  Her  chest 
sunken,  her  arms  falling  straightly,  her  head  bent 
forward,  she  kept  her  gaze  fixed,  in  its  strange  bright-* 

346 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ness,  upon  Sachs.  When  he  looked  at  her  now  and 
spoke  to  her,  she  started  slightly,  and  her  lips  parted, 
but  no  sound  issued  from  them. 

"  Will  you  come  back  with  me  to  Tannenkreuz, 
Fraulein  ?  "  Sachs  repeated. 

"  Why  should  I  come  back  with  you  ?  "  she  asked, 
speaking  with  difficulty. 

"  I  do  not  know  why,  Fraulein.  I  only  hope  you 
will." 

Keeping  her  eyes  on  the  young  man,  she  pointed  her 
hand  at  Liidenstein.  "  I  was  going  away  with  him. 
I  had  just  told  him  that  I  would  go  with  him.  We 
were  going  to  Sicily — we  were  going  all  over  the  world 
— wherever  I  choose.  He  loves  me." 

"And  do  you  love  him,  Fraulein?"  Sachs  asked, 
while  Ludenstein  stood,  his  arms  folded,  frowning  and 
looking  on  the  ground. 

"  No,"  said  Persis,  shaking  her  head.  "  I  don't 
love  him.  But  I  don't  love  anybody.  I  have  found 
out  about  myself.  I  am  not  different.  I  am  like  all 
the  other  people;  like  all  the  people  in  Ludwig's 
morass.  The  things  I  thought  were  real  are  not  real. 
I  am  not  real.  So  why  should  I  mind  about  love? 
What  I  want  is  to  be  amused."  The  words  fell 
softly,  evenly,  like  flakes  of  scorched  and  brittle  paper 
falling  through  the  air. 

"  I  think  that  if  you  do  not  love  him,  Fraulein,  you 
would  do  well  to  return  with  me,"  said  Sachs.  "  You 
would  not  be  amused.  You  would  be  very  unhappy; 
very  unhappy  indeed." 

347 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  I  could  hardly  be  more  unhappy  than  I  am  now. 
And  I  should  not  be  alone." 

"  Yes ;  you  would  be  alone,  Fraulein.  And  you 
might  be  even  more  unhappy  than  you  are  now." 

"  May  I  have  my  voice  in  this  dialogue  ?  "  Liiden- 
stein  now  interposed.  "  I  think  that  it  concerns  me, 
as  well  as  Fraulein  Fennamy.  She  does  not  love  me, 
as  she  tells  you ;  but  why,  Herr  Sachs,  should  she  not 
come  to  love  me?  Why  may  she  not  cease  to  be 
unhappy?  By  what  right  do  you  pronounce  against 
the  future?  I  say  to  you — and  to  her — that  she  will 
love  me;  and  I  say  that  all  the  happiness  possible  to 
us  in  life  shall  be  hers.  Freedom,  and  power,  and 
beauty;  I  can  give  them  all,  and  love."  His  eyes 
were  on  Persis.  There  was  power  and  dignity  in  his 
demeanour.  Bowing  his  head,  Sachs  stood  silent. 

They  heard  the  rustling  of  the  trees  around  them. 
Then  Persis  said :  "  Well,  what  do  you  answer  for 
me  to  that,  Herr  Sachs?  Is  it  true,  do  you  think? 
Shall  I  go  with  him  and  see  if  it  is  true?  At  least  he 
loves  me,  and  no  one  else  does  that." 

Sachs  stood  silent,  moving  his  crutch  among  the 
leaves. 

"  Is  it  true,  do  you  think  ?  "  she  repeated.  Her 
eyes  sought  his,  and  suddenly  she  saw  that  he  could 
not  raise  them. 

"  It  may  be  true,  Fraulein,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot 
say.  But  I  hope  that  you  will  not  go  with  him." 
And  as  she  stood  silent,  looking  at  him,  he  said: 
"  Your  mother  loves  you ;  and  you  will  leave  her  f or- 

348 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

saken.     And  I,  too,  love  you,  Fraulein,  though  I  can 
give  you  nothing." 

"  Ah !  "  was  breathed — a  deep  note — from  Liiden- 
stein.  "  This  is  what  I  expected ! "  He  drew  his 
shoulders  together  in  a  gesture  of  repudiating  exas- 
peration. "  This  is  what  I  was  waiting  for !  Soul 
versus  body!  The  saint  versus  the  sinner!  The 
same  old  comedy — and  a  piteous  one — of  lovely,  fool- 
ish Thais  and  the  desert  monk — with  the  same  ending. 
Do  you  know  how  it  ends,  that  old  story,  Fraulein 
Persis?  Do  you  know  what  is  the  fate  of  the  poor  lit- 
tle Thais  who  follows  the  desert  monk?  They  wall 
her  up ;  they  wall  her  up  in  her  youth  and  beauty  in  a 
narrow  cell,  and  leave  her  there  to  wither  until  such 
time  as  the  angels  come  to  find  the  little  dried  skeleton 
and  take  it  up  to  their  heaven.  Are  you  to  be  caught 
by  such  flimsy  snares  as  these — you,  the  proud  young 
thinker?  No,  no;  listen  to  me  now — the  sinner,  if 
you  will,  after  the  saint."  He  strode  to  her  side  as 
he  spoke  and  seized  her  by  the  hands,  making  her 
look  at  him.  "  Look  with  me  at  facts,  Fraulein  Per- 
sis," he  said.  "  You  are  here,  young  and  lovely,  and 
it  is  I  who  find  you  so.  You  have  bewitched  me. 
But  look  at  facts.  How  many  women  find  the  man 
whom  they  can  bewitch?  How  many  men  will  be 
willing  to  give  their  lives  to  you,  Fraulein  Persis? 
Will  you  know  the  great  love,  the  great  rapture  of 
romantic  love?  Come;  think  clearly.  Is  it  likely? 
Have  you  ever  found  it  yet?  No.  It  is  one  woman 
in  a  million  who  finds  it — or  who  for  a  little  while 

349 


TIME  LIMIT  IS  : 

AMATUP9 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

believes  she  has.  And  for  a  woman  what  else  is  there 
in  life  but  love?  Ask  yourself.  What  else  have  you 
sought,  here  in  Tannenkreuz?  What  else  have  you 
desired?  And  why  are  you  so  unhappy  except  that  it 
has  failed  you?  Ludwig  was  not  the  romantic  lover 
who  would  carry  you  away;  far  from  it.  And  Herr 
Sachs,  as  he  truly  says,  in  answer  to  your  reproach, 
has  nothing  to  offer,  not  even  love.  Now  look  at  the 
future.  You  are  not  rich;  you  have  no  worldly 
power;  a  brilliant  match  is  not  likely.  See  yourself 
with  madame  your  mother,  in  the  little  Paris  flat,  in 
the  hotel  here  and  there,  going  to  lectures,  giving  tea- 
parties,  engaging,  perhaps,  in  works  of  benevolence, 
wandering,  seeking,  unsatisfied,  until  one  day  you  will 
wake  up,  and  there,  in  her  cell,  will  stand  an  old  and 
shrivelled  Thais,  who  has  never  known  life;  a  poor  lit- 
tle American  old  maid  with  her  very  old  little  mother, 
hopping  still  from  bough  to  bough  of  the  European 
tree — have  we  not  seen  them  often?  And  now,  look 
— I  love  you,  with  passion — as  you  know ;  but  you  do 
not  yet  know  what  such  a  love  can  be.  And  I  offer 
you  all  the  splendour  and  joy  of  life ;  the  world  of  art, 
of  men,  will  be  open  to  you,  and  you  will  be  a  queen 
in  it — for  I  am  not  one  to  wish  to  hide  my  treasure ; 
I  wish  to  share  life  with  her.  And  what  if  it  is  all  to 
end  one  day?  Is  not  that  what  you  will  say  to  me? 
What  if  it  is  all  to  end  in  the  shrivelled  skeleton?  I 
do  not  deceive  you  with  false  pictures,  my  lovely  child. 
It  will  all  end ;  yet  not  in  a  cell.  No ;  I  see  you,  proud 
and  smiling,  a  figure  of  European  renown,  still  choos- 

350 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ing  your  own  path,  still  the  friend  of  men,  still  ripe 
with  the  ripeness  of  deep  experience.  The  end  is  not 
so  bad,  though  all  ends  are  bad,  and  we  must  not  deny 
it.  Come  now  with  me.  Be  brave.  Send  him  away 
and  take  me  and  life  and  our  life  together." 

While  he  spoke,  holding  her  by  the  hands,  Persis 
had  stood  looking  into  his  face  with  wide,  drinking 
eyes  as  though  there  went  through  her  a  distillation, 
fine,  shuddering  in  potency,  of  all  that  experience  of 
which  he  spoke.  It  was  as  though  in  her  look  she 
took  it  all,  to  the  last  drop  of  realization.  But  as  he 
ended,  drawing  her  hands  to  his  breast  and  speaking 
almost  with  tenderness  in  his  urgency,  she  moved 
back  from  him,  and,  as  he  followed,  still  holding  her, 
she  shook  her  head  slowly,  still  looking  into  his  eyes. 

"  No,  I  cannot,  I  cannot,"  she  said.  "  I  see  it  all. 
It  is  true.  But  I  see  more  than  you  do.  I  would 
rather  be  the  little  shrivelled  old  maid.  Though  I 
should  not  be  like  that.  I  have  known  the  other, 
and  rejected  it.  It  is  all  as  terrible  as  you  say;  but 
it  would  be  more  terrible  to  go  with  you.  It  would 
be  the  worst  unhappiness.  He  is  right.  I  should 
grow  to  hate  you.  Don't  you  feel  it  yourself  ?  There 
is  nothing,  nothing  between  us  but  things  that  would 
make  us  hate  each  other.  And  I  do  not  hate  you  now ; 
I  only  hate  myself." 

"  I  could  bear  with  your  hatred,"  said  Ludenstein, 
looking  at  her  with  a  singular  look. 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "  I  know 
you  could.  That  would  be  the  worst  horror  of  all." 

35i 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  It  is  this  wretched  little  man,"  said  Liidenstein. 
He  turned  his  eyes  on  Sachs,  and  his  ample,  golden 
face  expressed  a  still,  almost  a  contemplative  violence. 
"  This  wretched  little  maggot,  of  the  breed  well-named 
by  Ludwig.  Gladly  would  I  wring  his  neck,  if  that 
would  serve  me."  He  brought  his  eyes  back  to  her. 
"And  you  will  not  come  with  me?  It  is  true,  then, 
that  I  have  lost  you — and  through  him  ?  " 

"  It  is  true.     I  am  going  back  with  him." 

"  Wait."  He  caught  her  arm.  "  Look  at  me,"  he 
said.  "  I  love  you.  Ah !  the  icy  eyes.  What  is  it 
that  you  are  made  of — inscrutable  girl?  Is  it  ice — or 
marble — or  only  paper? — only  flimsy  paper  that 
wavers  and  turns  with  every  gust  of  wind — paper  that 
any  hand  may  tear?  Do  not  heed  my  rudeness. 
You  have  given  me  a  blow.  For  I  love  you — paper 
sorceress  though  you  are — and  what  better  destiny 
would  you  have  asked  for  than  to  be  burned  at  my 
fire?  So.  It  is  true,  then.  You  come  to  my  arms. 
You  give  yourself  to  my  kisses.  You  promise  your- 
self to  me.  And  then,  when  this  priestling  comes, 
you  turn  away,  crisp,  empty,  rustling.  Ah!  you  are 
right  when  you  say  that  you  will  not  be  as  the  others. 
You  have  come  too  near  the  flame.  You  may  reject 
it,  but  you  are  scorched  by  it.  Never  again  will  you 
forget  it." 

While  he  spoke,  his  bitter  half-smile  probing  her,  a 
deathly  pallor  crossed  her  face.  She  closed  her  eyes. 
"  Let  me  go,"  she  muttered,  like  a  little  girl  in  deadly 
fear.  "You  terrify  me." 

352 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

He  relaxed  his  hold  on  her  arm  and  stepped  back. 
"  I  will  let  you  go.  What  else  can  I  do  ?  I  do  not 
wish  to  frighten  you.  Go  with  your  priestling.  He 
will  restore  you."  He  doffed  his  hat  before  her  with 
ceremony. 

Sachs  had  limped  forward,  and  Persis  seized  his 
arm.  "  Take  me  back,"  she  said.  "  It  will  be  too 
late  for  tea.  Mamma  will  be  wondering " 

They  left  Liidenstein  standing  in  the  clearing,  look- 
ing after  them,  and  in  a  moment  the  woods  had  closed 
about  them,  and  he  was  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

CTT  is  quieter  here,  and  we  shall  be  less  likely  to 
JL  meet  anyone,"  said  Sachs  presently,  turning 
into  the  lower  belt  of  pine-woods. 

Stillness  fell  thickly  about  them  as  they  entered  the 
tall  aisles.  The  ground,  sloping  downwards,  was  slip- 
pery with  its  carpeting  of  needles;  the  sun  laid  long 
beams  among  the  rosy  boles.  Far  above,  in  the  green 
roof,  a  wind  moaned  softly. 

Persis  walked  steadily  forward,  her  hand  clutched 
on  Sachs's  arm;  but  suddenly  she  stopped  and  fixed 
her  eyes  upon  him.  The  rigor  left  her  face;  her  chin 
began  to  tremble;  the  tears  rose;  she  trembled  vio- 
lently all  over.  "  It  is  true.  What  he  said  is  true. 
Paper;  I  am  like  that; — horrible; — empty.  Wait.  I 
must  tell  you.  That  was  why  I  came  with  him.  The 
world  was  like  a  paper  world,  and  it  frightened  me  so 
dreadfully  that  when  he  came  I  was  glad.  Oh — I 
cannot  explain.  You  despise  me — as  he  does.  Yes! 
I  am  an  abandoned  woman!  It  was  the  same  with 
me  as  with  an  abandoned  woman." 

"  But  I  do  not  despise  abandoned  women,  Frau- 
lein,"  said  Sachs  gently. 

At  this  Persis  felt  the  trembling  cease.  A  rigidity 
cramped  her  throat  and  a  hot  flush  scorched  her  eye- 

354 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

balls.     She  walked  on  before  him,  in  silence,  down  the 
dim  aisles. 

"  Fraulein,"  said  Sachs's  voice,  almost  timidly,  be- 
hind her.  She  paused  for  him  to  join  her,  not  looking 
at  him.  "  I  have  hurt  you.  I  am  stupid.  You  must 
forgive  me." 

"  No,"  said  Persis  in  a  low,  harsh  voice,  "  I  am  not 
hurt.  I  deserve  it.  I  am  not  offended."  She  re- 
peated in  a  lower  voice :  "  I  am  an  abandoned 
woman." 

"No,  Fraulein,  not  that,"  said  Sachs,  casting  anx- 
ious glances  round  at  her  as,  with  some  difficulty,  he 
kept  pace  with  her.  "  Not  that.  You  are  not  an 
abandoned  woman,  though  you  were  a  woman  in  great 
danger.  For  though  Liidenstein  is  not  an  ignoble 
man,  he  is  a  man  who  is  without  love;  he  does  not 
know  the  meaning  of  the  word  love,  and  to  have  gone 
with  him — what  would  it  have  led  to  in  your  life?  I 
do  not  speak  from  the  conventional  point  of  view." 

"I  knew  it — I  knew  it  all,"  she  said.  "And  I 
chose  it,  open-eyed.  What  is  that  if  it  is  not  aban- 
doned ?  How  can  you  not  despise  me  ?  " 

"  But,  Fraulein,  I  love  you — as  I  said.  You  are 
more  dear  to  me  than  I  can  say.  How  can  you  think 
that  I  despise  you?  " 

She  was  weeping,  her  hands  before  her  face,  and 
she  wept  so  helplessly  that  Sachs  presently,  putting 
his  hand  on  her  arm,  begged  her  to  stop  and  rest. 
She  sank  down  on  the  pine-needles,  and,  leaning  on 
his  crutch,  he  stood  looking  at  her. 

355 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  You  love  me  because  you  are  good,"  she  sobbed 
when  she  could  find  her  voice.  "  You  do  not  under- 
stand. He  understands  me  better.  How  could  any- 
one like  you  understand  such  vanity,  such  recklessness, 
such  hardness  of  heart?  " 

"  But  I  am  not  good,  Fraulein.     I  understand." 

"  No — no ;  you  cannot.  Your  love  hurts  me  be- 
cause I  know  that  you  cannot.  And  how  could  I 
make  you?  I  was  not  misled.  It  was  not  romance 
and  folly.  I  chose  evil,  yes,  I  chose  evil,  knowing  that 
it  was  evil.  Not  like  him.  He  is  innocent,  nothing 
to  him  is  evil.  But  I  felt  it  and  chose  it ;  you  must  see 
the  truth.  I  came  up  to  the  wood  with  him  hoping 
that  he  would  make  love  to  me — make  passionate  love 
to  me — so  that  I  should  forget  myself,  and  love  myself, 
through  his  love.  And  though,  when  he  kissed  me 
and  held  me  in  his  arms,  I  knew  that  I  did  not  love 
him,  it  was  a  joy,  a  wild  joy,  to  feel  his  love.  I  was 
ready  to  go  away  with  him.  I  was  ready  for  every- 
thing." 

He  stood  looking  down  at  her  and  the  anxiety  of  his 
look  had  intensified  to  suffering.  Presently  he  sat 
down  on  the  ground,  laying  his  crutch  beside  him. 

"  Fraulein,"  he  said,  "  would  it  give  you  more  con- 
fidence in  my  understanding,  would  it  make  you  feel 
less  alone,  if  I  told  you  how  much  a  sinner  I  have 
been,  not  only  in  intention,  but  in  act.  You  speak  of 
abandoned  women  and  you  do  not  know  of  what  you 
speak.  But  at  one  time  in  my  youth,  and  it  is  not 
many  years  ago — I  was  an  abandoned  man.  Yes,  yes 

356 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

indeed,  Fraulein,  I  was  a  sinner,  knowing  that  I  sinned, 
and  my  dissipations  would  have  been  only  sordid  had 
not  sentimentality,  innate  and  racial,  lent  them  always 
some  touch  of  illusion.  So.  Now  you  will  not  tell 
me  that  I  do  not  understand."  She  had  raised  her 
head  and  turned  her  eyes  on  him  and  he  smiled  slightly 
at  her.  "  And  you  will  not  think  that  I  despise  you. 
I  do  not  despise  myself;  not  now;  not  since  I  have 
turned  my  back  on  evil.  You  have  turned  your  back 
on  it,  Fraulein." 

There  was  silence  now  for  a  long  time.  Persis 
looked  down  the  narrow  distances,  her  breaths  coming 
more  quietly  until  at  last  her  chest  rose  and  fell  in  an 
even  cadence.  She  looked  around  her  as  though  she 
saw  the  world  again,  and,  her  eyes  dropping  to  the 
pine-needles,  she  put  her  hand  down  among  them  and 
let  them  pass  softly  through  her  fingers. 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  true,  what  he  said,"  she  asked 
suddenly,  "that  no  one  will  ever  love  me  again  and 
that  I  shall  never  marry  ?  " 

Sachs  looked  at  her  with  a  faint  touch  of  his  merry 
grimace.  "  It  seems  to  me  improbable,  Fraulein.  He 
put  it  cleverly,  but  I  thought  it,  at  the  time,  very  im- 
probable. If  you  do  not  marry,  I  do  not  think  that 
it  will  be  because  no  one  will  again  love  you." 

*  Tell  me,"  she  went  on,  after  another  moment, 
raising  her  eyes  to  his  for  a  grave  glance ;  "  when  you 
say  that  you  love  me,  do  you  mean  only  heavenly  love, 
such  as  Graf  von  Ludenstein  spoke  of,  or  human  love? 
I  mean,  if  you  had  all  that  he  says  he  has  to  offer, 

357 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

would  you  care  to  marry  me,  to  have  me  for  your 
wife?"  And  again  she  raised  her  eyes  to  him,  while 
the  pine-needles,  with  a  soft  monotonousness,  ran 
through  her  fingers. 

Sachs  returned  her  gaze.  "Very  much  indeed, 
Fraulein,"  he  then  answered.  "Though,"  he  added, 
"  I  should  not  agree  to  Graf  von  Liidenstein's  division 
between  the  heavenly  and  human  loves.  Unless  it  is 
heavenly,  I  do  not  call  it  love." 

"  No.     I  see.     Of  course  not,"  said  Persis. 

She  sat  again  silent,  watching  the  pine-needles. 
Her  downcast  face,  all  its  baleful  radiance  gone,  was 
as  sodden,  as  ingenuous  as  a  child's  that  had  ex- 
hausted itself  with  crying.  Again,  suddenly,  not  rais- 
ing her  eyes,  she  said :  "  Will  you  marry  me  ?  Will 
you  let  me  be  with  you  always  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Fraulein !  "  said  Sachs,  after  a  silence ;  "  You 
do  not  know  what  you  are  saying,"  he  then  went  on. 
His  tone,  amazed  and  tender,  rallied  her.  "  You  are 
tired  and  have  begun  to  dream.  We  must  now  return 
to  Madame  Fennamy.  As  you  said,  she  will  be  won- 
dering what  has  become  of  you." 

"  She  will  not  wonder.  No,  I  mean  what  I  say  and 
I  know  quite  well  what  I  say.  There  is  no  one  like 
you.  I  only  feel  safe  when  I  am  with  you,  and  happy 
and  at  peace.  If  you  are  so  poor,  I  have  enough 
money  for  us  both;  Mamma  will  do  anything  I  like. 
And  we  can  live  very  simply  and  study  together." 

The  faint  smile  had  faded  from  Sachs's  face.  He 
looked  at  her  gravely,  a  flush  rising.  "  Dear  Frau- 

358 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

lein,"  he  said,  "  you  do  not  understand  what  it  is  you 
ask.  Even  if  it  were  possible,  I  should  be  no  fit  hus- 
band for  a  young  lady  like  you,  beautiful  and  brilliant 
with  all  her  life  before  her;  a  clumsy,  ugly  cripple, 
poor  and  humble,  and  a  small,  small  life,  so  dim,  so 
low ;  for  mine  is  no  great  talent ;  I  shall  teach,  in  some 
small  post ;  one  day,  perhaps,  be  a  pastor  in  some  small 
village.  Oh  no,  that  is  not  for  you.  It  would  kill 
you.  You  will  wait,  and  be  good  and  patient,  and  the 
fairy-prince  will  come  all  in  good  time." 

Her  chin  began  to  tremble.  It  was  only  a  spar  she 
had  found  in  an  ocean  of  tears.  The  waves  threat- 
ened again  to  engulf  her.  "  You  treat  me  like  a  child. 
I  am  not  a  child.  I  know  what  I  say.  I  have  learned 
about  myself  in  these  weeks.  It  would  be  beautiful, 
our  life  together,  because  your  star  would  be  there; 
your  star  would  be  above  it.  Do  you  remember  your 
star,  at  evening  ?  Oh,  say  that  you  will !  " 

Tears  had  risen  in  the  young  man's  eyes.  "  But 
Fraulein,  dear  Fraulein,  it  cannot  be.  It  is  not  pos- 
sible." He  looked  at  her  in  deep  trouble  and  per- 
plexity. "  Beside  all  else,  do  you  not  see,  I  may  not 
abandon  Ludwig.  I  must  find  him  and  stay  with  him. 
My  beautiful  Fraulein,  do  not  think  me  unworthy  or 
ungrateful.  It  is  more  than  I  can  ever  say,  what  you 
have  been  to  me,  what  you  are  to  me.  But  we  must 
part;  we  must  part  indeed,  dear  Fraulein.  His  life  is 
broken;  it  is  not  your  fault,  but  his  life  is  broken  and 
I  fear  greatly  for  him.  And  to  no  one  in  the  world 
will  he  turn  as  he  turns  to  me." 

359 


"  But  he  has  turned  from  you,"  said  Persis  in  a 
trembling  voice.  "  He  will  not  see  you.  Does  it 
mean  that  you  care  for  Ludwig  more  than  you  care  for 
me?" 

"  No,  he  has  not  turned  from  me.  He  still  seeks 
me,  though  it  will  be  unwillingly,  because  of  his 
wounded  pride.  To-day  he  came  to  my  room  to  find 
me,  and  I  was  not  there.  It  was  in  the  hope — I  know 
it — of  a  reconciliation." 

"  Does  it  mean  that  you  care  more  for  Ludwig  then 
for  me?"  she  repeated,  in  her  dulled  and  strangely 
gentle  voice.  "  Tell  me.  I  shall  understand  anything 
you  say." 

"  I  cannot  say  what  it  means,  Fraulein.  Perhaps 
that  I  pity  Ludwig  more  than  I  do  you,  and  owe  him 
more.  My  debt  of  gratitude  and  loyalty  to  Ludwig  is 
very  deep,  for  when  I  was  struggling  from  that  base 
life  I  told  you  of,  it  was  his  hand  that  was  held  out  to 
me,  his  fierce,  cleansing  thought  that  gave  me  strength. 
It  was  then  that  I  first  met  Ludwig,  Fraulein,  do  you 
see  ?  Ah !  you  do  not  know  his  generosity,  his  tender- 
ness, and  my  heart  breaks  for  him  when  I  think  that 
now  you  never  will.  And,  Fraulein,  I  will  tell  you 
all;  the  secret  of  Ludwig's  life,  the  shadow  that  rests 
on  him.  He  is  threatened,  he  is  threatened  with  mad- 
ness, Fraulein.  His  illness,  a  year  ago,  was  on  the 
verge  of  madness.  He  knows  it  and  it  is  his  dread. 
He  fights  it,  but  he  cannot  fight  it  alone.  Ah!  he  is 
deserving  of  pity;  which  of  us  has  suffered  as  Ludwig 
has  suffered?" 

360 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Persis  had  become  very  pale.  "  How  cruel  I  have 
been  to  him,"  she  said. 

"  No,  Fraulein,  no,  no.  The  cruellest  thing  to  do 
to  Ludwig  would  be  to  show  him  pity,  to  show  him 
that  you  spared  him  through  pity.  You  have  spoken 
cruel  truths  to  him,  but  you  have  not  been  cruel.  It 
has  been  the  mistake,  it  has  all  been  the  mistake." 

But  Persis,  gazing  at  him,  shook  her  head.  "  You 
do  not  know.  I  have  been  cruel,  when  he  disap- 
pointed me.  Yet,  if  he  had  not  disappointed  me,  what 
should  I  have  done?  Even  that  I  do  not  know.  I 
do  not  know  what  I  wanted  from  Ludwig."  And, 
putting  her  hands  before  her  face,  her  tears  falling, 
she  told  him  of  the  meeting  in  the  woods  and  of  how 
beautiful  Ludwig  had  been  and  of  her  own  strange 
unkindness.  "  You  see,  you  see,"  she  said,  when  she 
had  finished.  "  How  I  hurt  him !  He  was  like  a 
child  who  has  been  struck  when  it  was  full  of  trust  and 
love.  I  shall  never  forget  it ; — his  eyes,  looking  up  at 
me,  wondering  why  I  struck  him !  "  She  sobbed,  lean- 
ing her  head  upon  her  knees. 

"  I  think  I  guessed  what  you  tell  me,  Fraulein," 
Sachs  said  after  a  little  time  had  passed.  "  I  saw 
Ludwig  that  evening,  when  he  had  returned  from  the 
woods,  and  in  his  grief  and  anger  I  read  a  story  not  so 
different  from  yours.  Yes,  it  is  all  clear  to  me.  You 
did  not  love  Ludwig,  yet  you  wished  to  love  him. 
And  he,  unless  you  could  have  shown  him  love,  had 
no  power  to  win  you." 

"  You  were  right,"  said  Persis.  She  had  raised  her 
361 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

head  now  and  dried  her  tears.     "  Since  I  would  not 
marry  him,  I  should  have  sent  him  away." 

"  That  would  have  been  best,"  Sachs  assented. 
"  But  that,  too,  would  have  meant  much  suffering  for 
Ludwig.  For  he  loved  you  very  dearly." 

Again  silence  fell  and  then,  turning  her  eyes  on  his, 
Persis  said:  "And  what  can  you  do  now?  How 
can  it  be  mended  now?  What  will  he  do  without 
you?  I  have  robbed  him  of  you,  too." 

"  I  think  it  may  still  be  mended,  Fraulein,"  said 
Sachs,  looking  gently  at  her.  "  It  may  take  time,  but 
Ludwig,  I  think,  will  turn  to  me  again.  I  will  go  now 
to  his  hotel  and  if  he  is  not  there,  I  will  wait  for  him. 
And  if  he  drives  me  away,  for  he  may  hear  of  this 
meeting  of  ours,  I  will  follow  him  and  bide  my  time." 

"  And  you  and  I  must  part,"  said  Persis.  She  was 
looking  at  him  now,  deeply,  deeply,  her  ravaged  young 
face  stern  in  its  intentness.  She  was  like  a  traveller 
from  some  far  country,  to  which  she  must  next  day 
return,  who,  at  the  closing  hour,  still  lingers  in  the 
great  gallery  and  prints  upon  her  mind  the  design,  the 
colour,  the  features  and  the  gaze  of  the  masterpiece 
that  she  will  never  see  again.  And  it  may  well  have 
been  that  some  such  thought  was  also  in  the  young 
man's  mind  as  he  looked  back  at  her.  "  And  we  must 
part,  dear  Fraulein,"  he  replied. 

She  looked  away  for  a  moment,  and  down  at  the 
pine-needles  that  still  filled  her  palm.  "So  that  it 
will  be  as  if  we  had  died.  We  shall  remember  each 
other  as  if  we  were  dead."  She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his. 

362 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  But  it  does  not  mean  that  you  do  not  love  me.  It 
will  be  as  if  you  were  dead,  but  in  a  heaven  somewhere, 
thinking  of  me  sometimes." 

Tears  had  filled  the  young  man's  eyes.  They  over- 
brimmed, and  a  great  crystal  drop  stood  on  each 
cheek.  And  in  the  stillness  of  his  answering  gaze  she 
received  an  impression,  ineffaceable  and  transfiguring, 
of  a  mingled  love  and  anguish  which  she  could  never 
lose  again.  "Will  you  think  of  me  like  that,  my 
beautiful  Fraulein?"  he  said.  "Then  my  life  will 
be  blessed.  Yes,  you  will  be  my  star,  never  to  be 
forgotten ;  yes,  I  shall  feel  you  there,  always,  above  it, 
like  the  great  star  above  the  Christmas-tree."  He  had 
put  out  his  hands  to  hers  and  took  them  and  raised 
them  to  his  lips,  looking  at  her  over  them.  "  Do  you 
remember  the  Christmas-tree  we  talked  of?"  he  said. 
"  You  had  seen  only  one,  when  you  were  a  very  little 
child.  My  beautiful  Fraulein,"  he  murmured,  gaz- 
ing at  her.  "Your  face  is  like  that  now — the 
Weihnachts-Baum — with  its  lights  shining,  sacred, 
child-like — and  above  it  the  great  star.  I  shall  always 
see  you  so." 

He  held  her  hands,  clasped  together  in  his  trembling 
hands,  a  moment  longer.  Then,  gently  loosing  them, 
he  turned  his  face  away  and  reached  out  for  his  crutch 
and  rose.  It  was  growing  dusk  and  it  was  time  to  go. 

They  went  in  silence  down  the  hillside  and  came  to 
the  river.  Tannenkreuz  lay  before  them,  already 
shining  here  and  there  from  a  lighted  window. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Persis,  as  they  went  along  the  path 
363 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

to  the  bridge,  "  tell  me,  did  you  like  my  roses  ?  You 
said  nothing  of  them  in  your  note.  I  felt  that  you 
thought  I  had  taken  a  liberty  in  leaving  them." 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  and,  looking 
round  at  him,  she  found  his  eyes  fixed  strangely  upon 
her.  Then,  smiling,  though  he  was  very  pale,  he  said : 
"  No,  I  did  not  think  that  you  took  a  liberty,  Fraulein. 
They  were  beautiful  and  it  was  like  your  beauty  to 
leave  them  there  for  me." 

They  had  reached  the  bridge  now.  Would  death, 
Persis  wondered,  coming  suddenly,  with  no  alleviation 
of  weakness,  be  like  this?  this  darkness,  this  sever- 
ance, this  loneliness.  Yet,  was  it  all  suffering? 
Light  encircled  the  dark  moment.  And  light  was  in 
her  heart.  And  across  her  mind  floated  the  words 
that  had  come  to  her  on  that  day  when  she  had  first 
looked  into  Herr  Sachs's  eyes:  The  peace  of  God 
that  passeth  all  understanding.  Death  too,  then, 
could  be  beautiful. 

They  had  paused  there  on  the  bridge  and  heard  the 
river  flowing  swiftly  below  them.  Beyond  the  bridge 
their  ways  parted. 

Persis  smiled  down  at  him.  "  Do  you  think  that 
we  shall  ever  see  each  other  again  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  too,  smiled.  "  It  may  be,  dear  Fraulein.  Who 
can  tell?  I  shall  hope  to  see  you  again,  and  with  a 
husband  who  is  worthy  of  you,  in  all  ways  worthy  of 
you.  Or  it  may  be  with  a  great  work  to  do  that  you 
will  have  found." 

She  continued  gently  to  smile,  accepting,  it  seemed, 
364 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

all  he  said  to  her.  "  It  is  then,  auf  wiedersehen,  per- 
haps." 

"  Perhaps  auf  wiedersehen." 

They  crossed  the  bridge  and,  for  the  last  time, 
looked  at  each  other.  "  I  hope  that  you  will  find 
Ludwig,"  said  Persis.  "  I  hope  that  he  will  forgive 
me,  and  that  he  will  be  happy  with  you  again." 

It  was  she,  now  that  the  moment  had  come,  who 
was  the  braver.  Sachs  nodded,  clasping  the  hand  she 
held  out  to  him,  and  his  face  was  oddly  contorted  in 
its  effort  to  smile.  "  Danke,  danke"  he  murmured 
brokenly. 

It  was  on  this  faltering  murmur  that  their  parting 
came.  They  did  not  again  look  at  each  other,  Sachs 
turning  into  the  river-path  and  Persis  entering  the 
street  that  led  to  the  Pension  Miiller. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

IT  was  half -past  six  when  she  reached  the  pension, 
and  as  she  opened  the  gate  she  saw  Ludwig  stand- 
ing at  the  sitting-room  window  looking  out  at  her. 

His  expression  was  so  strange  that,  for  a  moment, 
she  paused  and,  in  the  twilight  there,  felt  a  sudden, 
devastating  fear,  not  for  herself,  but  for  him;  for 
Conrad,  and  for  Conrad's  hopes. 

"  He  hates  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  closed 
the  gate  and  ascended  the  steps ;  "  but  I  must  see  him ; 
I  must."  If  it  had  not  been  for  Conrad  she  knew  that 
she  could  not  have  seen  him.  Something  was  de- 
manded of  her,  she  knew,  though  she  could  not  think 
it  out  clearly  now,  as  she  stood  and  waited  for  the 
door  to  open,  that  would  place  her  side  by  side  with 
Conrad  in  his  fight  for  Ludwig  and  that  would  keep 
Conrad  near  her  life,  always,  as  the  star  was  near, 
even  while  it  parted  them  for  ever.  "  He  must  go 
back  to  Conrad,"  the  idea  floated,  "  Conrad  will  be 
waiting  for  him,  there,  in  the  hotel,  sitting  at  the  table 
waiting  for  him;  and  unless  I  am  careful  he  will  not 
see  Ludwig  again." 

The  maid  had  opened  to  her,  and  now,  with  a  curi- 
ous sinking  of  the  heart  yet  with  steady  aim,  she 
turned  the  handle  of  the  door  and  entered  the  room. 

366 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

The  spectral  figure  confronted  her,  darkly  sil- 
houetted against  the  window,  and  an  intangible  men- 
ace, like  the  infection  of  some  disease,  was  in  the 
air.  That  shadow,  overhanging  Ludwig's  life,  came 
to  her  mind  and  she  thought :  "  Perhaps  he  has  seen 
me  in  the  woods  and  wants  to  kill  me." 

She  heard  herself  saying  then,  in  a  voice  that  sur- 
prised her,  her  own  deliberate,  unrhoved  voice ;  "  I 
did  not  expect  to  find  you  here,  Ludwig.  How  dark 
it  is,"  and  crossing  before  him  to  the  mantelpiece  she 
lighted  the  two  candles  that  stood  upon  it  so  that 
Ludwig's  face,  when  she  turned  to  him,  seemed  to 
flicker  and  float  in  the  illuminated  darkness. 

Persis  went  and  stood  beside  the  table. 

Almost  at  once  he  began  to  speak,  with  no  vehem- 
ence, in  a  dull,  measured  voice  as  though  with  long 
rehearsed  words.  "  Well,  Fraulein  Fennamy,  you 
have,  I  imagine,  greatly  enjoyed  your  afternoon." 

He  had  seen  her,  then.  The  blood  crept  up  to  her 
face  and  she  felt  it  softly  tingling  behind  her  ears  and 
beating  in  her  neck.  She  looked  at  him  and  made  no 
reply. 

Ludwig,  it  was  evident,  misread  her  gaze.  "  Yes," 
he  said.  "  A  spy.  Say  it,  as  you  think  it.  Your  in- 
sults will  not  touch  me,  Fraulein  Fennamy.  A  spy. 
So  be  it.  I  followed  you,  you  and  Ludenstein, 
Liidenstein,  my  good  friend,  you,  my  comrade  and 
disciple.  I  crept  up  through  the  fields  when  you  en- 
tered the  vineyards  and  was  before  you  at  the  spot 
where,  I  knew  it,  you  would  betray  me.  The  very 

367 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

spot,  I  guessed  that  you  would  select  it,  where  we 
talked  of  our  friendship  and  where  I  watched  above 
your  sleep.  It  amused  me  to  think  of  this  as  I  lay 
in  the  grass  on  the  other  side  of  the  thicket  and 
watched  you — in  Liidenstein's  arms." 

Her  head  drooped  before  him  and  she  had  turned 
her  eyes  away.  "  I  did  not  know  where  we  were 
going,"  she  murmured.  "  I  did  not  know  that  we 
were  there." 

"  Your  disarray  of  thought  is  entirely  comprehen- 
sible," Wehlitz  returned  with  a  malevolent  smile. 

She  could  say  nothing  to  him.  Tears  of  shame 
blurred  her  downcast  eyes. 

"  I  saw  it  all,"  Ludwig  resumed,  and  he  continued  to 
smile;  "and  how  the  lady-mother  bore  Parsifal  in 
her  carriage  to  the  spot  with  timely  succour.  Ah, 
you  did  not  know  that  your  lady-mother  was  also 
suspicious?  A  resourceful  little  dame,  indeed.  Yes, 
you  were  hemmed  in  by  well-wishers  during  your  not 
unperilous  experiment,  Fraulein  Fennamy." 

Her  eyes,  amazed,  were  on  him  now  and  he  gloated 
malignantly  over  their  anguish.  Her  mother!  Her 
mother  knew !  Her  mother  had  followed  and  rescued 
her!  Now,  seeing  it  with  her  mother's  eyes,  she  saw 
her  ugly  romance  in  its  full  reality.  Ludwig's  knowl- 
edge and  Conrad's  did  not  come  near  to  her  as  this 
searing,  withering  intimacy  did.  To  see  herself  with 
their  eyes  was  to  see  herself  as  piteous  or  abhorrent; 
to  see  herself  with  her  mother's  was  to  stand  naked, 
helpless,  an  infinitely  foolish,  an  infinitely  common- 

368 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

place  creature.  The  very  elements  of  her  person- 
ality seemed  to  dissolve  in  the  crucible  of  this  reve- 
lation. 

She  looked  away  at  last  from  his  intent  and  jeering 
eyes  and  moving  from  him,  sank  on  the  sofa,  bending 
her  forehead  on  her  hand.  Wehlitz  did  not  follow 
her.  He  stood  where  she  had  left  him. 

"  Yes,  let  me  look  at  you,"  he  said.  "  You  afford 
me,  with  all  my  ironic  knowledge  of  women,  a  new 
chapter  of  experience.  Here  she  is,  the  proud,  chaste 
huntress  of  the  mind,  she  for  whose  sake,  lest  I  should 
offend  her  susceptibilities,  I  refrained  from  pleading 
or  passion,  mastering  myself,  taking  her,  in  my  man- 
like innocence,  at  her  own  valuation.  Here  she  is, 
the  comrade  of  the  spirit,  the  joyous  lover  of  suffer- 
ing, the  bird  flying  in  the  blue.  Ah!  it  was  easy  to 
deceive  me,  was  it  not? — easy  to  hoodwink  the  simple 
philosopher  who  believed  that  she  was  noble  and  free 
and  strong.  She  noble!  She  free!  She!  the  cat! 
the  snake!  the  greedy  child!  using  its  little  spiritual 
gauds  as  traps  for  men;  the  little  poems,  so  sad,  so 
yearning ;  the  delicate  disdain  of  the  flesh ;  the  gravity, 
the  sincerity.  A  greedy  child.  Yes,  and  Liidenstein 
spoke  well,  a  paper  sorceress,  an  insatiable  emptiness, 
a  mirror,  cold  and  dark,  reflecting  light !  Ah !  Well 
may  you  bow  your  head!  I  have  no  quarrel  with 
Liidenstein.  He  has  not  betrayed  me.  He  is  an  honest 
scoundrel!  I  do  not  fear  such  as  he!  I  will  find 
Ludenstein.  We  will  laugh  together  over  our  proud 
young  friend!"  Suddenly,  the  tone  of  nasal,  drag- 

369 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

ging  irony  altered.  "  Did  Conrad  also  kiss  you  in 
the  wood  ?  "  he  asked. 

A  contest,  confused  and  horrible,  seemed  to  pull  at 
the  strings  of  her  heart.  He  broke  her.  He  dis- 
solved her.  She  saw  herself  as  he  saw  her.  And 
who  could  save  her  from  herself  but  Conrad? 

She  almost  sobbed  his  name.  But  to  be  near  Con- 
rad, she  must  think  of  Ludwig;  she  must  shield  him 
from  self-knowledge  such  as  hers — if  he  saw  himself, 
how  could  he  go  back  to  Conrad?  Yes,  she  held  the 
clue,  and  she  heard  herself  murmuring :  "  You  do  not 
understand." 

"  Ha !  "  cried  Ludwig,  with  a  short  laugh,  "  she  will 
not  deign,  I  perceive,  to  cast  upon  me  one  of  her 
basilisk  glances.  She  resents  too  much  the  slight 
upon  her  holy  love !  No  kisses  there !  only  tenderness, 
compassion,  forgiveness ! " 

"  Try  to  understand,"  said  Persis,  her  face  still  hid- 
den in  her  hands.  "  He  is  so  beautiful.  He  loves 
us  both  so  much." 

The  supplication  goaded  him  to  a  further  fury. 
"  Beautiful!  Do  I  not  know  it?  Have  you  not  told 
me  so?  and  that  he  stoops  to  me!  Ah,  it  is  a  beauty 
I  could  dispense  with,  that  treacherous  beauty!  It 
has,  I  do  not  doubt,  seemed  beautiful  to  you  that  Con- 
rad, loving  me — you  assure  me,  I  understand,  that  he 
loves  me — should  behind  my  back  win  you  from 
me!" 

"  It  is  not  true.     What  you  say  is  not  true." 

"  Not  true !  Not  true !  You  talk  to  me  of  truth ! " 

370 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

His  voice  rose  to  a  scream.  "  You !  the  betrayer !  the 
dealer  in  lies!  Ah!  I  hear  them!  the  hissing  lies 
of  malignancy,  the  writhing  lies  of  treachery,  the 
greasy  lies  that  whisper  of  peace  and  happiness! 
Your  lies!  Conrad's  lies! — where,  behind  my  back, 
you  mock  and  betray  me !  "  He  approached  her  and 
stood  above  her.  "  Ah !  to  the  one  your  kisses !  to  the 
other  roses,  a  sweeter  gift.  I  am  indeed  the  least 
favoured,  for  to  me  you  gave  your  soul!  Here! 
Here  they  are!  Yes,  I  found  them.  Yes!  he  does 
not  know  what  love-tokens  you  leave  for  him!  Take 
them  to  him!  Take  them  to  him.  They  are  faded, 
but  they  will  be  none  the  less  sweet  to  him ! " 

While  he  shouted  out  the  broken  sentences,  pant- 
ing, he  had  drawn  from  his  breast  and  held  out  to  her 
on  his  open  palm,  the  knot  of  roses  that  she  had  left 
that  morning  on  Conrad's  table,  and  she  lifted  her 
head  at  last  to  gaze  at  them.  They  had  never  reached 
him;  their  message,  their  appeal,  all  that  her  written 
words  could  not  say.  And  Ludwlg  had  stolen  them. 
Grief,  for  something  irreparable,  filled  her.  From 
the  flowers,  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  Ludwig  and  looked 
at  him,  speechless. 

For  a  moment,  his  face  close  to  hers,  he  stared  at 
her.  Then,  turning  from  her,  he  flung  the  roses  down 
upon  the  table  and  took  his  head  in  his  hands.  "  The 
snake !  "  he  muttered.  "  I  saw  it — hiding  in  the  grass, 
the  deep,  green,  dangerous  grass.  I  saw  it  by  the 
well." 

Persis  murmured.     "  I  left  them  there  for  him,  be- 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

cause  I  love  him  and  thought  that  he  would  come  and 
help  me.     I  was  so  unhappy." 

And  Ludwig,  holding  his  head,  drew  deep,  panting 
breaths  and  said:  "Ah — you  love  him;  and  he  is 
strong — and  I  am  paltry;  and  he  is  beautiful — and 
I  am  the  mean  thief;  and  it  is  through  pity  that  he 
bears  with  me.  I  hear  it  all — though  you  do  not  say 
it ;  I  hear  it  all.  Yet  listen  to  me,"  still  he  spoke  with 
hidden  face.  "  He  is  not  the  saint  you  think  him, 
this  Conrad.  He  is  not  the  pure  spirit.  Ah,  no.  I 
am  amused  when  I  think  of  it.  He  comes  to  you  all 
flowers  and  dawn,  and  dew;  but  do  you  know  how 
first  I  saw  him,  your  little  Parsifal?  He  was  a  de- 
bauchee; a  vulgar  debauchee;  a  libertine;  a  plebeian 
libertine;  do  the  words  convey  to  you  sufficiently  the 
squalid  ugliness?  Yes,"  he  lifted  his  head  and  fixed 
his  glazed  eyes  on  her ;  "  stare  at  me  with  your  snake's 
stare !  It  is  the  truth !  Ask  him  if  it  is  not  the  truth. 
He  will  not  dare  deny  it!  And  who  saved  him? 
Who  lifted  him  above  the  mud!  I!  I!  I!"  he  beat 
his  clenched  fist  down  upon  the  table. 

Persis's  gaze  dwelt  on  him.  It  was  strange  at  this 
moment  to  know  that  she  could  still  see  him  with 
Conrad's  eyes,  and  feel  for  him  an  unspeakable  pity. 
"  You  should  not  have  told  me  that,"  she  said.  "  You 
will  feel  yourself,  I  know,  later,  when  you  can  think 
more  quietly,  that  you  should  not.  He  told  me,  this 
afternoon,  what  you  have  said.  It  was  to  give  me 
comfort.  And  he  told  me  what  you  had  done  for 
him;  how  you  had  helped  him;  his  gratitude  to  you. 

372 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

And  when  I  asked  him  to  marry  me,  he  said  that  he 
could  not,  because  of  his  love  for  you;  because  of 
the  bond  between  you ;  and  that  he  must  leave  me  and 
follow  you,  always." 

He  stood  looking  at  her  for  a  long  time  after  she 
had  finished.  She  had  turned  her  eyes  from  him 
now,  and  her  young  profile,  lifted  to  the  darkness 
outside,  was  stern,  concentrated,  solemn,  like  a  sol- 
dier's who  listens  to  the  word  of  command.  The  si- 
lence had  grown  long  before  she  looked  at  him  again. 

In  the  flickering  candlelight  Ludwig's  face  was 
fixed  on  her,  and  it  was  calm;  almost  contemplative. 
For  a  long  time  their  eyes  met,  in  silence. 

He  looked  away  at  last;  around  the  room  of  their 
many  encounters;  down  at  the  table,  piled  with  their 
useless  books,  and  his  eyes  falling  upon  the  faded 
roses,  he  took  them  up  and  seemed  to  examine  them. 
Then,  strangely,  he  put  them  to  his  face. 

The  gesture  smote  upon  her;  pity,  and  regret,  deep, 
deep  regret;  remorse  for  all  that  she  had  not  been 
to  him,  and  remembrance  of  all  that  there  had  been 
of  beauty,  now  destroyed.  And  she  longed  to  speak 
to  him,  to  tell  him  that  for  him,  too,  she  had  love. 
But  the  gulfs  that  had  opened  between  them  were  too 
deep  for  words  to  cross.  It  was  the  end.  Holding 
the  faded  roses  to  his  face,  as  if  unconsciously,  Lud- 
wig  walked  past  her  to  the  door,  opened  it  quietly,  and 
left  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

CONRAD  and  Eleanora  sat  opposite  each  other 
at  the  table  in  Lud wig's  sitting-room.  They 
had  hardly  spoken  since  Conrad,  entering,  had  found 
her  there  and  had  heard  from  her  that,  since  the 
morning,  Ludwig  had  not  been  seen. 

The  dusk  fell  and  the  room  grew  dark  and  they 
still  sat  on  in  silence,  lifting  from  time  to  time  their 
eyes  to  the  clock  that  ticked,  now  almost  invisible, 
upon  the  shelf  and,  from  time  to  time,  looking  at  each 
other  across  the  table. 

Their  fear  needed  no  expression.  Eleanora's  face 
was  worn  with  tears  and  she  still  wept  gently,  lifting 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  or  very  softly  blowing 
her  nose  and  murmuring  at  last,  as  she  crossed  her- 
self :  "  Ave  Maria,  Mater  Dei,  Ora  pro  nobis." 

It  was  at  half  past  seven  that  they  heard  Ludwig's 
step  in  the  passage.  Unmistakably  it  was  his  step, 
yet  it  came  with  such  a  strange  steadiness  and  even 
alertness  that,  before  he  entered,  the  eyes  of  Conrad 
and  Eleanora  again  met  in  a  wonder  that  was  not  all 
relief.  They  had  not  risen  when  the  door  opened 
and  Ludwig  appeared  before  them. 

He  stood  then,  in  the  open  door,  for  a  moment, 
looking  at  them.  The  light  from  the  passage  fell 

374 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

upon  their  upturned  faces  and  from  the  darkening 
sky  outside  the  evening  light  made  his  face  to  them 
just  visible. 

It  seemed  that  he  expected  to  find  them  there;  for, 
after  this  pause,  he  smiled  at  them  both  and  then, 
still  smiling,  leaving  the  door  ajar,  he  came  forward 
and  stood  before  them. 

"  You  wait  for  me  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  Ludwig ;  we  have  been  waiting  for  some 
time,"  said  Eleanora.  Her  voice,  in  spite  of  her  effort 
at  control,  trembled,  so  strange  did  she  feel  his  de- 
meanour to  be.  "  We  wished  to  ask  you  about  your 
plans  and  when  you  intend  to  leave  Tannenkreuz. 
To-morrow  morning,  you  said,  I  think  ?  And  I  hoped 
that  you  would  allow  me  to  pack  for  you,  since  you 
are  still  so  far  from  strong." 

"  Ah  yes,  I  see."  Ludwig,  standing  so  kindly  above 
them,  nodded.  "  It  is  good  of  you  to  have  thought 
of  it,  Eleanora."  He  turned  his  eyes  on  Conrad. 
"  And  it  is  good  of  you,  Conrad,  to  have  come.  I 
am  very  grateful  to  you  both." 

"  Then "  Eleanora  was  about  to  rise,  but  he 

laid  a  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  Not  to-night,  Eleanora,"  he  said.  "  Not  to-night. 
The  plans  can  wait.  I  am  very  tired  and  I  must  rest. 
A  good  sleep  is  what  I  am  most  in  need  of.  To-mor- 
row you  shall  both  see  me.  Come  to-morrow,  come 
early,  and  I  will  be  ready  for  you.  Then  will  be  the 
time  for  plans."  Nodding  again,  still  with  his  faint, 
fixed  smile,  he  moved  towards  his  bedroom,  turning 

375 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

at  the  door  and  pausing  there  so  that  there  seemed  no 
other  choice  than  to  accept  his  courteous  dismissal, 
and  go. 

"  Good-night,  then,  Ludwig,"  Eleanora  murmured, 
rising. 

Conrad  said  nothing.  He  took  up  his  hat  and 
crutch  and  prepared  to  follow  her. 

"  Sleep  well,  Ludwig,"  she  said.  "  We  will  come 
early,  and  shall  hope  to  find  you  entirely  restored." 

"  I  thank  you,"  Ludwig  returned,  his  eyes  resting 
on  them  with  a  sweetness  long  indeed  alien  to  him. 
"  And  good-night  to  you,  my  friends." 

When  they  were  outside  in  the  corridor,  the  door 
closed  behind  them,  Conrad  paused. 

"  Signorina,"  he  said. 

Eleanora  also  paused ;  "  Yes,"  she  said.  They 
spoke  in  lowered  voices. 

"  He  is  not  well,"  said  Conrad.  "  Ludwig  is  not 
well." 

"  Ah,  he  is  very  far  from  well !  "  Eleanora  assented 
with  nervous  impatience.  "  Very  far  indeed  from 
well !  Do  we  not  know  it  ?  " 

"What  I  mean,"  said  Conrad,  his  eyes  falling  to 
the  ground,  "  is  that  I  do  not  feel  that  I  can  leave 
him.  I  feel  that  it  would  be  best  if  I  were  to  return 
and  sit  quietly  there  and  wait  until  I  hear  that  he  is 
asleep.  He  will  be  quite  unaware  of  my  presence." 

He  glanced  up  at  her.  "  That  will  be  best ;  do  you 
not  think  so  ?  " 

Eleanora  nodded  vehemently,  compressing  her  lips. 

376 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  she  uttered,  with  effort.  "  It  was 
my  thought,  also.  I,  also,  did  not  wish  to  leave 
him." 

"  You  will  leave  him  with  me  ?  You  feel  it  best 
that  I  should  wait  alone,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Best.  He  is  safe  with  you."  Her  hand- 
kerchief was  at  her  eyes  and,  blindly,  she  held  out  a 
hand  to  him.  Conrad  clasped  it  and  so  they  parted. 

He  entered  the  little  salon  again.  The  door  of 
Ludwig's  bedroom  was  outlined  in  light.  Already  he 
had  lit  his  candles. 

With  infinite  precaution  Conrad  made  his  way  to 
the  table,  leaning  on  it  for  a  moment,  and,  as  he  did 
so,  he  noticed  that  the  inkstand  was  not  in  its  place. 
It  had  been  there  a  moment  earlier.  Ludwig  had 
returned  to  get  it  as  soon  as  they  were  gone.  He  was 
writing  in  his  room. 

Maneuvering  his  crutch  with  the  utmost  care,  the 
young  man  continued  his  progress  across  the  room. 
He  reached  Ludwig's  door  and  laid  his  ear  upon  the 
crack. 

He  could  hear  now,  faintly,  but  clearly,  the  sounds 
within.  There  was  the  rustle  of  paper  being  turned, 
the  swift  scratching  of  a  pen,  a  chair  that  creaked 
slightly.  After  that,  the  sound  of  folding  paper. 

Then  came  a  silence.  "  Will  he  begin  to  undress 
now?"  Conrad  thought.  Ludwig  put  back  the  chair 
and  rose.  He  crossed  the  room  and  Conrad  laid  his 
hand  on  the  door-knob.  No,  he  had  not  gone  to  the 
dressing-table.  He  was  pouring  water  from  the 

377 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

carafe  on  the  wash-stand;  but  the  sound  of  an  open- 
ing drawer  was  heard,  of  the  little  drawer  in  the  wash- 
stand  where  he  kept  some  medicines  that  Conrad 
knew  of.  Conrad  turned  the  handle.  The  door  was 
locked. 

The  sounds  inside  ceased  with  a  terrible  sudden- 
ness. 

Conrad  now  leaned  heavily  against  the  door.  The 
strength  of  his  body,  driven  from  the  feeble  lower 
limbs,  was  concentrated  in  his  shoulders;  and  he  gave 
it  all.  With  clenched  teeth,  twisted  brows,  veins  that 
started  on  his  forehead  and  throat,  he  pressed  against 
the  door;  the  lock  cracked,  yielded,  the  door  burst 
open  and  he  went  in. 

Ludwig  was  standing  there  before  him.  His  hat 
was  still,  very  oddly,  upon  his  head.  He  held  a  small 
white  paper  in  his  hand  and  his  eyes  were  fixed,  in  a 
stern  yet  ghastly  astonishment,  upon  the  door.  Con- 
rad closed  it,  recovering  the  crutch  that  slipped  from 
under  his  shoulder,  and  going  up  to  his  friend,  he  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  paper;  and,  as  Ludwig's  fingers 
closed  convulsively  upon  it,  the  young  man  put  an 
arm  around  him.  "  No — no — no,  Ludwig,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  not  the  time  for  that." 

His  illumined  eyes  were  on  his  friend.  He  gazed 
at  him  without  reproach.  "  It  is  not  the  time  for  that, 
Ludwig,"  he  repeated. 

Wehlitz  put  forth  his  whole  strength  in  resistance 
against  him.  "  You  do  not  understand,"  he  said, 
speaking  in  the  same  quiet  tones  with  which  he  had 

378 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

greeted  them  in  the  sitting-room.  "  I  have  written 
to  you.  I  have  said  all  that  there  is  to  say." 

"  No,  no,  Ludwig,"  Conrad  repeated.  "  That  is  a 
mistake." 

They  still  stood  locked  in  their  watchful  grip. 

"  It  is  not  a  mistake,"  Wehlitz  returned.  "  I  have 
betrayed  you.  I  am  a  false,  a  cowardly  friend.  She 
will  tell  you  of  it.  I  am  a  man  who  has  no  right  to 
live.  Only  death  can  redeem  my  baseness." 

"  That  is  all  beside  the  mark,  Ludwig,"  said  Con- 
rad. "  You  misconceive  our  relation.  It  would  be 
intolerable  if  a  man  like  you  should  commit  suicide 
through  a  misconception." 

A  convulsive  trembling  shook  Wehlitz.  "  I  under- 
stand all  you  would  say.  She  has  made  it  clear. 
You  have  inspired  her;  she,  too,  I  saw  it  well,  mas- 
tered her  loathing  of  me  to  save  me.  We  all  live  in 
your  strength.  That,  too,  she  told  me ;  but  it  was  the 
other  day,  before  she,  too,  had  grown  pitiful.  She 
has  told  me  all  the  good  you  said  of  me  to  her — and 
believed  of  me;  while  I  spat  my  venom  at  you!  Oh, 
Conrad!  Conrad!"  he  broke  suddenly  into  dreadful 
sobs.  "Let  me  die!  All  is  at  an  end.  The  world 
will  not  listen  to  me  and  I  am  a  weak  and  foolish 
man;  and  the  vultures,  Conrad,  the  vultures,  pick  at 
my  brain.  Let  me  go,  while  it  is  I  myself  who  can 
choose  to  go." 

He  sank  on  a  chair  and  the  little  cripple  knelt  be- 
side him,  sustaining  him.  Holding  him  in  his  arms, 
his  face  fixed  in  its  patient  watchfulness,  he  said; 

379 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  You  are  not  yourself,  Ludwig.  That  is  what  I 
mean.  You  have  not  been  yourself  for  many  days." 

"  I  understand  you !  I  understand  you !  "  Wehlitz 
sobbed.  "  It  is  pity,  pity,  pity  for  the  real  cripple ; 
pity  for  the  weak  and  self-deluded  man.  Am  I  not 
a  laughing-stock  in  my  own  eyes  that  I  am  still  here 
to  receive  it?  If  you  knew  true  pity,  you  would  let 
me  go." 

"And  I  am  pitiless,  Ludwig;  I  am  pitiless,"  said 
Conrad,  looking  into  his  face.  "  It  is  easier  for  you 
to  go,  but  it  is  not  your  real  self  that  takes  the  easier 
way.  It  would  be  absurd,  do  you  see,  for  you  to  go 
like  this,  destroying  your  life  because  you  have  been 
warped  and  distraught  by  a  love  affair." 

"My  life!"  Wehlitz  cried,  "and  what  of  yours? 
She  loves  you,  and  it  is  I  who  stand  between  you !  If 
I  die  you  will  marry  her." 

"  Oh,  no,  Ludwig,"  said  the  young  man  quietly. 
"  I  shall  not  marry  her.  I  love  her  far  too  much  to 
yield  to  my  own  heart  and  to  hers.  What  would 
her  life  be  with  me?  What  pride  or  joy  could  there 
be  for  her  in  a  husband  who  was  merely  her  husband  ? 
If  I  entered  the  life  which  is  naturally  hers,  I  should 
have  no  place  in  it.  And  do  you  see  her  taking  her 
place  in  mine?  Do  you  see  her  becoming  the  pro- 
vincial Frau  Professorin  or  Frau  Pastorin?  I  do  not. 
No,  Ludwig,  I  could  not  say  that  I  have  renounced 
the  idea  of  marriage;  it  has  not  entered  my  mind." 

An  atmosphere  of  peaceful  veracity  emanated  from 
the  young  man.  Wehlitz  spoke  presently,  in  a  low. 

380 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

voice,  and  his  eyes,  still,  did  not  meet  his  friend's. 
"  She  has  destroyed  it  all,"  he  said,  "  all  my  faith, 
in  my  work,  in  myself.  She  despises  me,  and  I  see 
myself  with  her  eyes.  The  future?  What  future  is 
there  for  me?  I  see  the  doom  to  which  I  go  and 
there  are  no  battles  to  be  won  as  I  march  towards 
it." 

"You  think  it  is  destroyed  because  you  are  ill," 
said  Conrad.  "  The  truth  is  that  she  will  always  re- 
member you  as  a  strange,  flashing  brightness  that 
crossed  her  life.  And  even  if  it  were  true  that  she 
despised  you,  would  that  be  of  great  consequence?" 
He  slightly  smiled.  "  My  opinion  is  of  little  value, 
but  it  is  worth  more  than  hers ;  and  I  am  satisfied  that 
the  world  will  one  day  listen  to  you  and  that  you 
cannot  be  spared.  The  old  story  will  repeat  itself. 
The  world  will  reject  too  much,  and  accept  too  much, 
and  exalt  and  vilify  you,  and  at  the  end  be  enriched 
by  another  vein  of  pure  ore  in  all  its  dross  and  granite. 
No,  Ludwig,"  and  now  he  smiled  his  own  comedian's 
smile  of  melancholy  jocularity,  "  it  is  not  for  you  to 
fling  out  of  life  like  the  gloomy  hero  of  a  romantic 
novel.  You  must  live  by  your  own  doctrine  and  laugh 
at  yourself.  Such  impulses  are  to  be  laughed  down. 
And  as  for  me,  and  for  our  friendship,  we  understand 
each  other  too  well,  we  have  shared  life  too  deeply,  to 
be  bound  by  conventionalities.  If  you  owe  me  some 
reparation,  you  will  pay  the  debt  by  ignoring  it.  You 
must  live  as  though  it  had  not  been.  You  must  for- 
get it.  That  is  what  I  do." 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

Wehlitz  had  listened  to  him,  his  eyes  on  his  at  last, 
his  lips  folded  in  a  profound  sadness.  "  But,  Conrad, 
wait,"  he  said.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"  Wait,  Conrad.  You  do  not  yet  know  all.  Look ; 
look  at  this,  my  friend."  His  face  again  convulsed 
with  the  nervous  trembling,  he  drew  the  roses  from 
his  breast  and  held  them  out,  lifting  eyes  of  heavy 
shame  upon  the  young  man.  "  I  stole  them  from 
you,"  he  said.  "  She  had  left  them  for  you,  and  I 
stole  them.  Oh,  my  friend,  you  give  your  life  to 
me — and  I  take  all,  all  from  you — even  this  love- 
token  from  the  woman  you  love,  that  beautiful,  bale- 
ful woman,  young  basilisk  and  death-dealer  that  she 
is !  She  loves  you,  and  this  was  her  message  to  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  Conrad  nodded,  blinking  rapidly 
and  with  a  grimace  of  involuntary  pain.  "  It  was 
bad,  Ludwig,  very  bad.  And  very  foolish  too.  The 
act  of  the  gloomy,  romantic  lover,  was  it  not?  Have 
we  not  had  enough  of  him?  Is  he  not  dead  and 
buried?  I  forgive  him,  with  all  my  heart,  and  so  let 
the  matter  end." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  with  them  now?  "  Wehlitz 
asked,  still  holding  out  the  roses  and  looking  at  his 
friend  with  great  intentness. 

And  Conrad,  smiling,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation, 
said :  "  Since  they  were  meant  for  me,  I  will  keep 
them."  He  took  out  his  pocket-book  and  laid  the 
roses  within  it.  "  I  will  keep  them  in  memory  of 
Fraulein  Fennamy  and  of  Tannenkreuz." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

PERSIS  went  upstairs  to  her  mother's  room.  A 
further  step  remained  to  be  taken,  a  step 
whether  of  expiation,  immolation  or  reconstruction, 
she  could  not  have  said.  Her  being,  bruised,  exalted 
and  exhausted,  craved  for  sleep  and  darkness;  but  as 
the  sense  of  compulsion  had  moved  her  to  Ludwig, 
so  now  she  knew  that  she  could  not  sleep  until  she  had 
stood  before  her  mother  and  heard  what  she  had  to 
say  to  her.  Unimaginable  scene,  more  fantastic  than 
the  scene  just  passed  through  in  the  little  sitting- 
room; — for  she  and  Ludwig  belonged  to  the  realm  of 
strange  happenings,  and  only  by  her  own  act  of  mad- 
ness had  her  mother  been  brought  into  it. 

The  faint  odour  of  violet-powder  greeted  her  as  she 
entered,  and  the  crisp  scent  of  tonged  hair.  Between 
two  candles,  Mrs.  Fennamy  sat  at  her  dressing-table, 
and  under  her  hand  stood  the  little  spirit-lamp  with 
the  tongs  laid  above  its  range  of  soft  blue  flame. 
She  was  waving  her  hair,  a  craft  she  practised  with 
great  skill,  and  as  Persis  entered  she  lifted  the  tongs 
and  ran  them,  with  dexterous  turns  and  clippings, 
through  the  thick,  faded  locks,  loosely  caught  up  about 
her  head.  Then,  meeting  her  daughter's  eyes  in  the 

383 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

mirror,  she  set  the  tongs  again  in  their  place  and  took 
up  a  comb. 

"  You  've  had  a  long  walk,  have  n't  you?  "  she  said. 
"  I  expect  you  're  pretty  tired." 

Persis  sat  down  on  the  chair  against  the  wall  as 
she  had  sat  after  the  first  walk  with  Ludwig,  many 
weeks  ago.  She  felt,  suddenly,  so  weak  that  she 
knew  she  could  not  meet  what  was  required  of 
her  if  she  remained  standing.  She  had  not 
known  what  to  expect;  but  she  had  not  expected 
this. 

Her  mother's  eyes  no  longer  met  hers.  She  was 
engaged  with  the  comb,  lightly  fluffing  the  little  fringe 
that  crossed  her  infantile  forehead. 

"Yes;  I  am  very  tired,"  said  Persis,  after  a  short 
time  had  passed.  "  It  was  a  long  walk.  And  you 
came  up  to  the  woods,  too,  Ludwig  told  me;  with 
Herr  Sachs." 

The  compulsion  was  upon  her  to  utter  the  words. 
She  must  make  it  easier  for  her  mother,  if  she  shrank 
from  laying  the  torch  to  the  heaped  up  faggots.  And, 
indeed,  a  slight  change  was  perceptible  in  the  placid 
mirrored  features.  "  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy, 
"  Herr  Wehlitz  saw  us,  did  he  ?  "  and  after  a  pause 
she  went  on :  "  He  's  been  here,  then  ?  Herr  Sachs 
did  n't  find  him  ?  Herr  Sachs  was  very  anxious  about 
him,  so  I  drove  him  up." 

'  You  started  soon  after  Graf  von  Liidenstein  and 
I  did?" 

"Yes;  I  thought  I'd  like  a  little  drive." 
384 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  And  you  went  and  got  Herr  Sachs?  "  Persis  spoke 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Fennamy  repeated,  after  another 
pause.  "  I  went  and  got  him.  I  like  Herr  Sachs, 
and  I  thought  he  'd  enjoy  the  drive,  perhaps." 

And  now,  in  the  mirror,  mother  and  daughter's 
eyes  met  in  a  curious  interchange,  not  long,  and,  seem- 
ingly, not  deep.  That  there  was  so  little  to  read  in 
Mrs.  Fennamy's  gaze  was,  perhaps,  the  offering  she 
made  to  her  child's  need.  There  was  nothing  for 
Persis  to  face;  no  expiation;  no  faggots  of  any  sort. 
She  was  to  walk,  as  always,  unscathed  by  overt  inter- 
ference; and  if  the  mother  had  been  revealed  as 
vigilant  and  the  daughter  as  inadequate,  no  claim  was 
to  be  based  on  the  revelation,  and  no  pledges  exacted. 
It  was  more  than  a  fine  and  silken  pride  that  shrank 
from  the  crudity  of  emotional  avowals  and  forgive- 
ness; in  the  crystal  flawlessness  of  her  daughter's  in- 
dependence lay,  after  all,  the  whole  object  of  Mrs. 
Fennamy's  existence,  and  the  deepest  satisfaction  of 
her  affection.  It  was  that  affection  which  was  ex- 
pressed rather  than  any  other  consciousness  when  her 
eyes  dropped  and  a  slight  colour  crept  into  her  cheek. 
She  took  up  the  curling-tongs  again. 

"  No ;  Herr  Sachs  did  n't  find  him,"  Persis,  speak- 
ing still  in  her  low,  unstressed  voice,  now  went  on. 
"  He  found  me  instead.  He  and  I  had  a  long  talk. 
And  Ludwig  was  waiting  for  me  when  I  got  back. 
He  is  just  gone.  We  shall  never  see  each  other 
again." 

385 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

"  I  thought  you  'd  parted  yesterday,"  Mrs.  Fennamy 
observed,  turning  the  tongs  in  another  tress  of  hair. 

"  I  thought  so  too.  He  felt  that  he  must  see  me 
again,  I  think,  to  tell  me  how  much  he  hated  me." 

She  leaned  forward  now  on  her  knees,  her  face  in 
her  hands,  but  she  was  not  weeping,  and  in  an  un- 
changed voice,  she  said :  "  Is  it  not  terrible  when 
two  people  have  cared  so  much  for  each  other — to 
have  come  to  that  ?  " 

"  It  often  does,  I  expect,  if  they  are  not  the  sort  of 
people  who  are  meant  to  care  for  each  other,"  said 
Mrs.  Fennamy.  "  And  you  don't  hate  him,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  No,  I  don't  hate  him.  I  shall  always  remember 
everything  that  was  beautiful  in  him,  while  he  will 
always  remember  everything  that  was  ugly  in  me." 

"  That  would  be  because  he  was  in  love  with  you, 
and  you  were  n't  with  him,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy. 
"  It  would  hurt  him  too  much  to  remember  the  beau- 
tiful things." 

Again  there  was  a  little  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
soft,  dulled  click  of  the  tongs.  Then  Persis  rose. 

"  When  shall  we  go,  mamma  ?  Do  you  think  that 
we  could  get  off  by  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  we  can,"  said  Mrs.  Fennamy. 
"  Everything  is  packed.  There  's  only  the  bill  to  pay." 

Persis  moved  towards  the  door.  "  I  shall  go  to 
bed  now,  mamma.  I  am  so  tired." 

"  That 's  the  best  thing  you  can  do.  I  '11  bring  you 
some  hot  milk  when  you  're  in  bed." 

386 


THE  ENCOUNTER 

With  her  hand  on  the  door,  Persis  paused  for  an- 
other moment,  as  if  she  felt  that  there  was  still  some- 
thing to  be  said ;  then,  feeling  that  there  was  nothing 
she  could  find  to  say,  she  smiled  a  faint  acquiescence, 
and  went  out. 


THE   END 


°Wt  to leo 


